That Kind Of Girl Poem by Ursula Anderson

Yes.
I am a child
Of massive disproportion.

I did not break myself
into smaller pieces,
manageable bites.

I was broken.
For enjoyment
and convenience.

For delectation.

You know a few crumbs
a fragment
the meagre leftovers
and stand back
horrified.

Live in this:

It was love it or hate it.
You will do it
because I say so.

Love it and be punished
for obscenity and shame.

Hate it and be punished
for his hurt feelings
and my disobedience.

The soft center
is unconsciousness
and a blessed relief
but hard to find
and ungenerous.

Also unforgiven.

It was always punishment.
Regardless.

And this small piece lives
and believes in love
almost

and breaks its little self
on love.
A miracle.

and understands pain
with a depth that love
invariably reaches.

Invariably
and Disproportionately.

But real
and with something
fired in
that you can cut yourself on,
out of the oven like a blade
or a pastry
depending on your perspective.

Run, run, as fast as you can!
You can't catch me! I'm the-

Oh wait,
there is no escape
but oblivion.

I blink my eyes.
I flinch.
I stifle flinches.

This little piece
Remains.