paper

My body is paper.

I fold myself to what you need

Scribble pretty words on myself

So that you’ll think I’m

Pretty

Smart

Into politics

Into art

Into metal

Into parties

I scribble your words onto my body

But with a tattoo gun

The words of past lovers cover me from head to toe until I

Dont know where they end and I begin

Do I even begin at all

Or am I just the leftover product of too many men’s

Ideal mistake

I fold and refold and write new pretty words and new pretty pictures and fold myself into new pretty shapes

For some new pretty person

 

Fold refold fold refold

My paper is worn

All crispness gone

Full of nonsensical scribbles where no white can be seen

I am paper

This poem is about: 
Me

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