i'm sewing a dress of pins.
i stole the pins from my grandmother's sewing bag.
just kidding i don't have a grandmother.
she became a cloud last year.
a grey angry cloud. gave us a loud rainy day
& then she departed. in my dress, no one
will be able to touch me. i'm inventing a prom
for only boys like me which is to say
a dance for doilies. this is a great
dining room table for us all to lay down on.
if i could reinvent the sky
it would be sharper & more treacherous.
i want an angel to arrive to tell me
what i'm doing wrong so that i can ignore him.
i could point the needles inward
& make a cushion of myself. press the pins
into my skin & call it fashion.
put me on the cover of a magazine
& call me beautiful pain. i'm going to
photoshop out my blood. retouch my skin.
beautiful blur of needles.
leaning in close to a mirror
is pure disaster. sweat collects on my face.
i am an alien planet. who is going
to feed me visitors? the truth is
this dress isn't a statement
i just don't have any fabric. i just want to arrive.
i can't walk outside in a dress
or i think someone might shoot me.
no one believes my fears are founded.
around here everyone has guns
coiled around their hearts.
no one understands how glamorous i am.
they're scared of how acute
a dress can be. they're used to girls
in summer skirts & bows. i could show them
femininity like no other. touch me
& discover your own blood.
look at me & turn to silk.