Wednesday 11/29/2006 12:31:00 AM

I was over as myself as anyone alive could be. He was under. In molesting jabs that made me feel more a child than a woman. Not that I really knew how it felt. Being a woman per se. Long dresses that sweep the floor in graceful gasps. Pointed heels echoing each stride in a rhythm so suffocatingly syncopated. Just things I'd seen on the television. Images conjured in my head by storybooks. And other lies I was conditioned to believe.

The little girl in her sundress still giggling somewhere under the creases of this burlap I call my skin. The child with a face of clay. Spinning in vain for fingers that never feel. But change her with the slightest touch.

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