My Face Becomes A Picasso Sketch, My

I Stand In The Center Aisle Of The Auditorium, A Wounded Zebra In A National Geographic Special, Looking For Someone, Anyone To Sit Next To. A Predator Approaches: Gray Jock Buzz Cut, Whistle Around A Neck Thicker Than His Head. Probably A Social Studies Teacher, Hired To Coach A Blood Sport.

We Turned Us Into Wintergirls, And When She Tried To Leave, I Pulled Her Back Into The Snow Because I Was Afraid To Be Alone.

I Breathe In Slowly. Food Is Life. I Exhale, Take Another Breath. Food Is Life.

Because I Am Still A Little Girl Who Believes In Santa And The Tooth Fairy And You.

Be Aggressive, Be-be Aggressive! B-e A-g-g-r-e-s-s-i-v-e