There is a colonie of women out there for me, we are the scattered kind. Walking alone, but always united as one.

I die
material to be slipped (in)
over the body, manipulated,
draped, casting a shadow:

A punching bag. An honest Ape.
I die friendships that never were for
A tightly woven assault of cast offs
And unfriendly whispers, pretty colors,
and I never hide my stained hands.