she

she is short.

four feet?

chocolate brown eyes.

i think she belongs to my mother.

she likes popsicles.

the ones that turn her tongue blue

and drip down her fingers.

maybe she is my neighbor’s.

she can’t be me.

i am short

but i always feel

like i take up too much space.

she isn’t me.

i don’t eat sugar.

not because i don’t like it.

but because men and mirrors.

i gave her away.

to the streets?

far away.

she was demanding.

or maybe

i left her in the train station

and she watches all the people

run nowhere.

if you find her

please do not return.

take care of her

because i couldn’t.