Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.

Fee-fi-fo-fum - Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.

...became a woman who learned her own skin and dug into her soul and found it full.

I lay there silently, hoarding my small dignity. I did not ask about the gate or the closet. I did not question the bedtime ritual where, on the cold bathroom tiles, I was spread out daily and examined for flaws. I did not know that my bones, those solids, those pieces of sculpture would not splinter.

Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.

Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.

You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed; lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.