I wrap my arms tightly around me
but they don't reach.
I squeeze tighter,
ignoring the cry of my breasty breasts,
I am useless to comfort me,
so I link my pinky into my pinky
and grip til I feel bone,
then numbness,
I go to the couch
and lay my birthday letter
on my stomach and
wrap my knobby robe
around it,
tying the papers
tightly to my womb,
I pull the covers over my head
and count my breathing
in--one, hale--two
in--three, hale--four
hoping to hynotize myself
into a dreamless nighmare.
woe is me...
woe is me...
woe is me

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