I was a particular girl
for 30 years;
pegged with the hidden tongue,
told that my confidence must nap
near the door, alongside the ignored fattening dog.
Words were saved up over the years
now glued into a backbone;
it shifts into shape
when I need to be tall.
The girl cried in the night,
constantly uncomfortable with
the pain of poise from the entire day.
I am the particular woman
that I wanted to be for 30 years;
gifted with a life that was not my own;
I cannot easily get used to this–
and neither can those that were comforted by
looking down at me.


© 2014 Angela M. Carter