I used to think of myself as what remained at the end of the day, the stuff boys collected to occupy their time until the next Christmas or birthday. No one told me that in so many words, but my bruises and the non-looks in their ees spoke loudly enough. Now, though, I am mostly healed, and you, your gaze penetrates me, and I lie here, open to you, no longer the discarded junk, but the brand new toy.
No comments:
Post a Comment