Post-Op

Nobody can see the starrish stitch on my chest,
denoting me a lower, slower being...
all you see is a lower, slower being.

To me it serves to prove I am tougher,
or as tough,
as you say me to be,
but I am only lower, slower and your daughter.

Your only one.

Outside and staring in other's windows,
I see highers move amongst night so dark
that every move illuminates and blinds the rest of the house,

and inside an old lady knits by the glow.

I wonder how many like me hide a starrish chest,
why at 23 I am a freak of nature (or even more so)
and wonder more why it is STILL such a big deal

what other people think.

And, because, nothing can ever seem to lie dormant
in this boggy head of mine,
why it happened to all of us, to you, and most of all,
I must not forget,
to include the most underappreciated of all,
why do I always forget to ask,
why
it
happened
to

ME

...And this time I am letting myself cry.
You see, maybe it seems I reach out to you
because you are one apart in a sea of same.