(a): taking how I see myself…

and transcribing it into a language you speak / a language we share / a language that forced itself onto me / a language I wanted / a language by which I wanted to be wanted. And then I realized decided that it never could want me (if it intended to keep its shape), and so it never would (even if it wanted to [which I know sometimes you do]), so I started reattaching pieces of myself that had been lost in translation, only they weren’t mine they belonged to someone that looked a bit like me, and they had emanated from some other language that I was told would give me the words to love myself. But I did not find love there, only more language by which to be defined. None of it is me and in that way, all of it is. The thing I am rejects itself almost entirely. (b): a throw pillow.