Between my sore fingerbeds lies
The twitching stitching
Of what I made of today.

I love my lace dress
Yet my stomach aches with uncertainty
I tip backwards on my one-inch heels
I will never get old enough to stop playing
Stumbling
And catching myself
Like a fish in the pond
But I’m always thrown back.

I pull the fabric down
Afraid to show my dry knees
Afraid to show the parts of me –
As I turn, I do not
Twirl
I am hurled
Thrown into a circle of
Pinches and pokes

My wrist is dangled in the air
The fishermen gasp
I drown in the salty sea of their laughs
Each one piercing my back like
Harpoons
But I am no Moby Dick

I am left to pull back my hair and walk away
Tracing the lace
As I nervously wait
For someone to accept every part of me

Maybe that’s what hurts most
That even this beautiful dress
Cannot make a beautiful me.