28

i am still

refusing to perform in my ballet recital,

telling my preschool teacher

i wish i had a gun,

maladaptive daydreaming,

twisting my hair into knots.

i am still

tempted to touch the robin's eggs,

but i don't.

communing with things unseen.

i am still

where the jackals scavenge,

where the moths and vermin destroy,

where the thieves break in.

i am still 

"emily, we're not being mean."

"emily, you're the most fragile person i know." 

"emily, we don't know what to do." 

i am still

a cutting board,

an empty glass,

a molotov,

and a robin's egg, myself.