She didn’t fit the girl shape I cut her into,
Snipped out of a picture book,
I scrubbed the ink from her pours until she was skin.
With surgeon hands I examined her oddness,
Trimmed the mushrooms from between her toes,
Skinned the dragon’s scales from her lips.
I tutored her with unfolding discipline,
But she wouldn’t sit still,
Wouldn’t stop singing,
Drawing all over her ruined skin.
I did try to love her
But she was so distant
A shade of blue reserved only for horizons.
She was only present when angry
And then her closeness was as ugly as an aliens.
Sometimes she took my strikes with only fierce eyes
Other times we fought-
A tangle of skin almost merging.
One night she tried to kiss me
And I felt her breath in my lungs
I nearly suffocated with the softness of it
So I did it-
I buried her alive under my floorboards
Where there was soil and clay and worms and
Death. The mushrooms could grow
Back into her cold toes. My shadow
Torn from the seams of me.