I see myself in the context of the audience.
I am my mirror, reflection, and stalker on the other side.

Looking, watching, pacing, don’t fuck up, come back inside.
I want to remain innocent and protect the inner child now required to stay.

Reflection becomes necessary in staying.
How can the intersectional combination of my disparate identities influence every decision I make?

Amalgamations of warm moist air over rising water do not a hurricane make.
To view me from all angles is to pull humanity from the self and name me simply an object.

Little toes and fingers, a pinch of my stomach skin are lone to objectify.
My lips and chest were lone to love, but who held them in her embrace afterward?

Who took two years to heal afterward?
You were never in control.

You seemed to want to control.
You told me to see myself in the context of the audience.