I bruised my lips with rouge
to push the boundaries of age.
Hands on the bus

discovered me,
I bloomed under a boy’s gaze
when my tights split open

pale thighs. Later I clenched a
heart-shaped locket in my fist
and recalled questing fingers,

a mouth without a home.
Shame and desire shaped
and formed me,

a woman-child
who wanted better
but didn’t know how to ask.