KISSI’ve been waiting for warmth again trying to conceal that I am a pile of dirty dishes shaped in curves and pretzel knotted curls and knowing that you are indigenous, even if the others don’t think so that’s what calms me LITTLE BALLIf I had a spear, if I plunged myself through a flagpole, it would all spill out. It would happen slowly, like honey. You are a little fucking ball of love, she says. I think about the love inside me. If the love inside me has divided into little men and women working who all reside in different parts. If they walk around, bow-legged, and cramped over so their backs have become dinner tables. I think about if they curse at me, hate me, if they want a break. Maybe they want to get a good rest in before they have to work again. But there is no rest, they are always working, and it makes me want to cry. I think about the love inside me. If it has died, like it should have by now, I could watch it roll out like a black glob onto my sneakers. People would stare, point, ask how an oil spill could come from a little girl's body, but no one would be sure because I wouldn’t be breathing. The love inside me is not yellow, like it used to be. You are a little fucking ball of love, she says. I look deep in the shower, and hold the black I feel behind my belly button. I hold the slime in my intestines, and I think that’s the reason why my stomach hurts so bad this year. ✱✱✱
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