I want to be seduced by a man, I run out again, feather to the wind, full of wild expectations, out in the spring night.
My parents are redoing their porch,
peeling off the wallpaper and painting it
the color of fog оn wet mornings.
We soak the paper and some of it comes off
in long strips. It’s satisfying
to tear and rip and shred it from the wall.
Other pieces cling to the paint
like meat to a bone and we scrape at it
wanting to expose the room’s underbelly,
the old wood panels underneath.
Sometimes I want to peel back
the layers of my heart and find
what I’ve left behind, what I’ve hidden;
the soft bones, the part of me that’s true.
-Where does the difference between the past and the future come from?
-Mine? Before you and after you.
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