quoi

i thought that i would grow
with the grace of a flower,
that i would unfold
not like bed sheets,
or borrowed clothes,
but like origami;
crisply,
neatly.
i thought i would speak like a song,
each note ringing
with necessity,
with meaning.
i thought of my eyes
as nets,
simultaneously fishing for
and catching what
was needed;
feelings, places,
people,
prey.
i am not what i thought.

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