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I’ve never seen my face. I sneak
up to mirrors, but the eyes that stare back
are cruel eyes and scared half shut.
The neck is mine, wound in peacock silks.
The hands are mine, hiding faceless thumbs
under fists. And the feet are mine,
two lumps that won’t look up.

What do you want to see, Girl?
Gorgon’s hair? Half a scalp?

I want to see a girl wiggle and strut,
snake through the grass, pick cherries with her toes,
kick the can, "skip to my Lou,"
and never ever tell the truth.