I, To You, Am Lost In The

What Did My Arms Do Before They Held You?

I Have Stitched Life Into Me Like A Rare Organ

I Felt The Mask Crumple, The Great Poisonous Store Of Corrosive Ashes Begin To Spew Out Of My Mouth.

I Need The Reality Of Other People, Work, To Fulfill Myself. Must Never Become A Mere Mother And Housewife.

A Psychiatrist Is The God Of Our Age. But They Cost Money.