Sometimes I see their shadows on the wall
dancing in flame, or in the flaws in glass.
And envy them, because they have more class
or cuter looks. I am the one that all
the bad things happened to, got raped, grew fat;
had even good things turn to ash and dust.
I lost my loves, I lost my looks, my trust.
And they’re the lucky ones who dodged all that.
The ones who kept the girl, perhaps got rich.
And I’m the one who got the poetry
and I’m the one who’ll live. Our name will die
in all those other worlds. Call me a bitch
for envy of those women who would kill
to have the gift I have. I hate them still.