Give me a room with a view
of myself. Leave the flowers to wilt.
Draw shut the curtains. Only open them
at night when the window will reflect me
and I can write about my eyes being
unearthly phenomena. I can write about
my hands and how they droop like lilies.
Give me a sacred place where I can
examine my scars without shame;
where I can pull myself apart like
a birthday present; where I can love
my body quietly and apologize for the wait.