‘I am a bird,’ said the girl, reaching to touch the stars
With fingers coated in lust,
Drinking up an empty sky.
The disappointment was certain
And crushed her dry.

‘If I cannot be a bird, then I am a flower,’ said the girl, extending arms
To feign a purple tinge
That hid all insecurity.
The guise was sharp
And tore at her immaturity.

‘If I cannot be a flower, then I am a fish,’ said the girl, twisting for lore
Hidden among wily words,
Like a sea of galore.

The girl stepped forward to stare at that sea.
She caught sight of her reflection and said, ‘I am simply me.’