#Blessed

All the images that make her pretty have
Burned into her retinas and into
Facebook Messenger. Into whatever spaces
She has left in her heart. Whatever

places
In her head aren’t lies she tells herself.

Look. She’s another shape
Within the spaces of this bar and she doesn’t
Want to be here. And she’ll never get old
Until she gets old.

She’s another someone in this club who needs to be met:
To be seen and breathed in and
Craven hands will feel her over layers of
Mistrust and clothing.
Until they drop off and layer the floorboards

Until morning. She’s another shape in the street
As she claws her way toward coffee and books and
Solitude — where she can feel what it feels like to
Be ashamed
And craved
And craven

At the same time — and dressed in sheets in the
Middle of the street. She’s sobbing in
The middle of this street. Look,
She’s another shape in the background of this
Heap. And she’ll never get old
Until she gets old. And she’ll never weep until
She weeps. And she’ll always know
That means she’s winning.
That means she’s winning.

Stay gold,
Sabrina