I still mourn for the kid in me who didn't know better,
the kid who didn't learn better,
the girl whose no
was not stitched into her soul.
I mourn for her. She who preferred a boy to the echoless black,
she who quietly drowned under any touch at all.
I know her, too, as the ghost who still follows.
A ghost who knows I have left behind that sweat-choked life,
that submergence under sea.
She stands behind my shoulders now, pale, small and smiling.
Glad to see
who I've become.