My ship,
where I lie
sinking, thinking
that I float better
on its four legs
than on my own two
measly ones

I soaked my ship with piss
for years before 
I sunk it with tears
pull-ups on while my
younger sisters weaned
out of diapers

when I fold each item of clothing 
and gently place it in its home
I un-smother the chair over there
I declutter the gutters in my head
I can see the dandelion floor beneath me

I played music from my radio clock
AM/FM or Natalie Merchant or Jewel
danced around a yellow carpet
and refused to change the time
so half the year my clock was always an hour slow
but it never made me late
I made me late

Patrick the Pup
a dog shaped pillow
 bigger than me
I hid beneath when I was two
my parents founded a whole search party
just to find me

giggling and safe
now I hide in the fluctuating
145-pound shape 
of a 22-year old 
girl
woman
my parents will never find me now
maybe they never did
I only showed myself

Mom painted over my bedroom walls for me
I decided I couldn’t stand pink anymore
—pink was GIRLY 
and I was NOT—
she painted three walls fresh grass 
but never got to the fourth one
the wall behind my bookcase 
tickled pink

worlds of words
stacked and layered
known and unknown

the wobbly, patterned chair from the living room
that I never even wanted
that got stuffed with me
when it was no longer wanted
and wore my clothes
and held my things
I hid its hideousness
with my miscellanea
a faded, broken-legged friend

There’s a
dress
hanging 
in there
that doesn’t 
fit me
anymore
and the
longer 
it stays
hanging
the less I
can keep
growing