I Stuff My Mouth With Old Fabric

I Am Beginning To Measure Myself In Strength, Not Pounds. Sometimes In Smiles.

Revision Means Throwing Out The Boring Crap And Making What’s Left Sound Natural.

I Am Locked Into The Mirror And There Is No Door Out.

This Girl Shivers And Crawls Under The Covers With All Her Clothes On And Falls Into An Overdue Library Book, A Faerie Story With Rats And Marrow And Burning Curses. The Sentences Build A Fence Around Her, A Times Roman 10-point Barricade, To Keep The Thorny Voices In Her Head From Getting Too Close.

Do They Choose To Be So Dense? Were They Born That Way? I Have No Friends. I Have Nothing. I Say Nothing. I Am Nothing.