Hide

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Life taught her well –

hide beneath pretty

packaging, paint sleeves

pink like brittle

.

fingernails to ward

off the curious

and offer a semblance

of heart without

.

engagement. Scars

mean band-aids,

amateurish wrappings

to disguise the terror

.

of being known, the

risk of offering her

self and finding that

she is not enough.

Break Out

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Panic throws up her

force field and solidifies

resistance to the truth;

denial hardens her

.

tortoise-shell exterior.

Her heart has been spared

in this temporary cocoon,

but greenhouse emissions

.

end up blowing a lot of hot

air, and little else of any

real substance. Her foray

into the real world

.

can’t be put off forever,

or she will stunt in her

space capsule, grow gangly

in her soul’s quest for

.

a fruitful life. She hasn’t

yet tasted sun skin to skin,

or roots flying free, or

she would break out.