Take it off.
Take it all off and show your skin.
sun-bleached fringes of dull jaded fern
You hate it, I know,
You hate the limits that your skin has an end
That air touches you and makes you real
That you watch so many things from a window
Orb of yellow, pool of spite
Light in your eyes
distorted with layers of temperature and current
You are not real you are a vapour trying to keep its form
What form will the spaces give your face now
Will you be pious?
Good little girl, brave face
Sliding down in beads of water
Coming up again in a cloud
You have no touch you are painted over