pretty girls have it harder than me
your hands around my hips
weigh down like the centre of the ocean.
the earth peeled away my mother's skin
taped it roughly to the edges of my ears
and there was something dangerous in the way i loved it.
i wore your lessons woven into costume jewellery
biting into my bones at curtain call.
and mom's stilettos
i claim you like a poet claims heartbreak
and makes it their own.
the girl after me will have it harder.
she does not know
how to write ugly poetry and fold skin over it
sealing it within to walk the stage.
how hard is it to forget the steps
you snapped your legs into place for?
and this, i can't find in myself.
thank you for reading this x