This is me, and I do not exist. I'm hiding under
folds and curves and cracks and stains, while
everyone around me exclaims, "Oh, how
beautiful you are," in the smallest of voices
so that I do not hear. I spend hours searching
for the smallest of escapes; a beautiful boy
sighs beneath me, and I am exposed again.

Too many times. This is what comes out of
me; this is what I cannot explain.