The essence of myself, inseperable from my sexuality and gender.

The woman who lives inside me

She is the wind before a thunderstorm
The foundation residue on the back of my hand
The ponytail holder on my wrist

She sings with the mourning doves
She is the dandelion I rub on my cheek
I find her in my jewelry box

I see her in my grandmother
The polaroids in the bottom of a dusty box
The skeletons in the closet

When I chop off my hair, she smiles
She is the every hole in my stockings
She is the shower after a day at the beach

She wants to run away and join the circus
Every trinket on the shelf
The porcelain doll with a homemade dress

Sometimes I hate her
The way others treat her
I wish she would leave

We are one
My blood doesn’t drain her out
She clings to my guts, twisting them

At the end of the night we embrace
She couldn’t leave me if she wanted to
After all, it was only ever the two of us