Debut

I’m wearing your resentment
mother,
a garment woven strong,
seam-stitched
with the deceptively fragile thread
of your incalculable anger
at my existence.

The hem trails long;
I trip and stumble
as you watch through slitted eyes
this clumsy ballet of sour shame.

The pin curls wound
around your knowing fingers
wink their sly perfection
at my little girl ineptness,
at the folly of being me.

 

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One thought on “Debut”

  1. my heart goes out to you, dreamer.
    as well i feel like the girl in the picture. there are more of us looking in than i realized. maybe ‘in’ isnt all that after all. maybe we are ‘in’, as well.
    kïrstin

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