MAY PT. II

May has daffodil eyes, tastes of spring water.

She is a spring tantrum. Hail ricochets off her

bones. Petals form a nest around her heart.

She swallows wisps of clouds, stains her fingers

with wild berries. Weaves poison ivy through her

hair. She never wants to be anything soft or

disposable. She has honeyed skin, vanilla mouth.

Sugar sweet girl. Broken glass wedged in between

fists. Holds her breath, drains the pink from her

cheeks. Turns herself blue. Says, I was never

built for spring. I am the skeletons in the closet.

The ghosts in the basement. I am the outcast,

dressed up like a pageantry.