week one

a poem from the past, written in the present

I have no chest

no hint of breast

no hips that curve

no looks that serve

I stay a child

I'm mute

I'm mild

I have no fear

to disappear

outside I'm weak

I'm small

I'm meek

inside I scream

too scared to dream

it's not my fault

locked in this vault

no one to blame

I'll take the shame

stuck in this role

no future goal

no love for me

no me to see