It's manipulative really.
The taking of their accents,
their dialogue. I am a thief.
It's planned. The first time
I am calculating, understanding, watching
them as if to understand who they are
so I can become them. I wear their skin.
It's wrinkled, sagging and dropping
at the seams, but over time it fits to my body.
After their speech. It's their clothes.
If they wear dark colors I come in black
If they put bright colors on display, I come in white
If they talk with gesturing hands, I make swooping
gestures. If they hide within themselves, I
break the shell so they will reveal who they are
to me. More to steal. More to become.
While I put off searching for myself.
YOU ARE READING
Faces of Autonomy: A Poetry Collection
Poetry"The bones break, building upon one another-each vertebrae snapping, stacking, until my limbs reach the highest shelves." -From Chameleon. TW: Abuse, Grief, Loss, Violence. Poetry was never a genre I thought I would get into. I read very little po...
