I would be perfect.

I would be perfect.

But there was a problem- I lacked efficacy in the simplest of tasks- I was wrong for stepping right, for everyone would steer left.
The things I said were stupid, the things I thought irrelevant to all in my circle.
the only thing I could do was listen and be perfect at it

and when they asked me questions I would stumble over words, and then laugh about it, even if the topic weighed at my heart, not embarrassed but abashed. Abashed so I could not speak any longer, abashed so I would not stay any longer, abashed with so much coal that I could not breathe any longer.

I would not hide the mark of a wretch he branded unto my skin

The fear of skin, of skin,
of a child's burning skin

and to the closet in the back-room I would go
the closet, my friend that felt good but as of drink
as of spirit, as of weak

agonizing fear lasted a week,
too weak, three week
neverending, everlasting,
felt at the hairs on my neck, today,
the evil hairs at my neck, as I speak,

the ones pulled with dread,
as I flew across the room,
circumventing the walls like a laundry machine

the rods, the blinds, the vents

the purple face, the pink face,
all of the colors, as a rainbow stretched across her face

ever-changing, neverending

never ending?

never-ending