"agency"

My bones no longer belong to me

and my eyes are only a product of your agency;

the wind blows

and the chills become intimate with me like no one else could-

I used to hate the cold

because I didn’t understand that I would feel the most beautiful

when no one questioned the bandages under the black sleeves

and when no one could see the flesh dotted with marks too personal to explain,

I am only a product of society

and once I became this age

I became one not to be viewed

but to be consumed,

I am no longer myself

because when I am I always do it wrong,

I have a collection of hundreds of masks

and rarely forget

to put one on

sometimes I even forget to take it off

before I drift off,

I think someone can hear the dreams I have

and I fear that they critique my inner-world.