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an imperfect fit

by Maria Kintner

There is a prison I have found myself a part of.

This odd cocoon, trying it's best to force me into bent shapes.
Breaking my bones
to fit me into it's plastic acceptance.

I have never been this way.

And my old self, who wasn't wrong about us,
wakes me desperately. Cracking the
mold of my corporeal frame, and puling
me from the plaster. A cast of the wrong likeness.
An idol of shame.

You can't keep the kneeling girl, with her guilt-ridden face to the ground.
I will bust her into a fine powder before you have
a chance to give her a name.

10/08/2021

Posted on 10/08/2021
Copyright © 2021 Maria Kintner

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