Sometimes when I am stepping out of myself

I see me trying to hold on

To another me, I want to be.

These me-s are born from a world

That did things to me

And amidst these several me-s

The real me (What’s that?) wonders

How to be me.



My cleavage spills out of a pretty blue blouse

My breasts enfolded in satin

I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world

Till he asks me, “Is she pretty?”