what if i fall and hurt myself.

I am YOU ARE a negative post-war effect
the taste in your old bottle of Chardonnay, a forgiven child
and a lost case. 


I am YOU ARE that weak girl without limits, a Yale University dreamer, 
Bella Foschia without bella and without foschia and without knowledge of any further Italian
a policy of love and care and understanding.
A bitch. And the wife of one time traveler, a wounded angel, a nonaddictive opium, 
but listen --


I am me. You are you. I am you are the copywriter of my YOUR own story, the lover of my YOUR life, 
my best friend, my worst enemy, a reform and an enlightenment.
I am probably the one I so frigging badly want to be. At least soon. 



No, I have mistaken. You are all of that, too.