BY ROXXANNA KURTZ
Matti N. Antila Poetry Award

I feel myself

crumple and crease

like the folds of a

crushed paper bag.

 

My skin weighs on me

as I pinch the thickness

of my thighs and sides.

 

Bruises forming where

skin should be thin,

but has been memorized

by fingers that shake

whenever I cry.

 

I am not made of silk.

 

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