i gave my winter coat the one with the plaid lining to the thrift store and i've shorn these locks once again each time is the last time i swear i bear my breasts each night to the suffocating summer air in my third story room with fragments and charms of my life and those photographs they might as well be blank when i wake up in the morning and unlock my door to the world that sees my face more than i do i keep telling myself "presence" but all i want to do is run into the arms of future ideals and sing on a lonely mountain as i let my hair grow to my toes

take me