I'm dreaming again
The same nightmare
I'm watching
each year following
my fifteenth summer
small pieces loosen
from my body
then replaced with something
I'm afraid to know.
At 16, I don't like mirrors
I mean at all.
At 17, I get undressed
in the dark. Always.
At 18, I try to offer them to someone
then choke, then suffer.
At 19, I give and receive.
No suffering.
At 20, it starts to change
I can't bear to look
now, either.
At 21, I have them back,
new pieces lost.
At 22, nothing seem to fit,
and I desperately try to make them.
And then I wake up.
I gulp on air.
I choke on feathers.
And each time I realise
each piece is there,
but I still don't know them.