MAY PT. II
May has daffodil eyes, tastes of spring water.
She is a spring tantrum. Hail ricochets off her
bones. Petals form a nest around her heart.
She swallows wisps of clouds, stains her fingers
with wild berries. Weaves poison ivy through her
hair. She never wants to be anything soft or
disposable. She has honeyed skin, vanilla mouth.
Sugar sweet girl. Broken glass wedged in between
fists. Holds her breath, drains the pink from her
cheeks. Turns herself blue. Says, I was never
built for spring. I am the skeletons in the closet.
The ghosts in the basement. I am the outcast,
dressed up like a pageantry.
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