A Real Girl

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Your kisses weren’t kisses.
They were balm.
Hands soothed me back into a shape
closer in form to an unbroken girl,
an approximation
of a pre-assaulted sixteen-year-old,
less bent,
spine more properly aligned,
like a sapling toward sun,
something still alive
that could grow steadily,
stronger.

 

April 7, 2014
Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 7

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