among all the quiet violences you visit on me
the ones i do not recognize are most dangerous.
your dissatisfaction begins to lurk in my own skin:
i press myself smaller, starch my own edges,
bleed quickly at night, bleach in the morning.
i have never been so whole as i am with you:

a real woman, trademarked and branded, with
accessories and behaviors to match. i am
every trait you have wanted, interchangeably.
you put me on and off like a kitchen bulb.
because i am not authentic, i am valued. i am owned.