the out-there girl is
a woman now
and the tiny world from
her childhood is
too heavy to carry in
a willow basket
so she drags it along
her scars have thinned
once thick with rage and
loathed reflections
they lie on her skin as
paraphrased reminders of
abandoned stories
and nothing more
the out-there girl was
once a cry in a
curled-up corner of a
dollhouse room
woman now
calloused to a poise
and out there on her own
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