By Nicole George

This woman who let me out,
will never fit into my shoes.
I wish no resemblance of her, but
I would like her, at least,
to comprehend.
I have known experiences which clothe me
in know-nothing attire and
I am suffering the weight of the layers.
She offers only dissaproving shakes of her head.
It seems her imagination will not stretch as far as
the naked me.
My bare flesh remembers beauty.
And I have opportunities.

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