To nowhere,
climb up the stairs. Unchanging corridors.
Unchanging walls. Every day there is the same dull
drags of flesh a girl must brush and paint and dress.
Step on the ledge, step out
crowds that stare and jeer and poke,
to disappear into the blank night without
hope.
At sixteen, I felt it too:

‘I don’t want anyone in or out of my family to see any part of me.’

At sixteen, I felt it too:
hope
to disappear into the blank night without
crowds that stare and jeer and poke.
Step on the ledge, step out
drags of flesh. A girl must brush and paint and dress
unchanging walls. Every day there is the same dull
climb up the stairs. Unchanging corridors
to nowhere.