They had barely pulled me out  

of my mother’s womb, 

and already a bow was in my hair. 

Was it tied in before 

or after my first breath? 

Start her young and she 

shall not depart from it. 

My twin brother and I, 

a baby boy and a doll. 

The bow has never loosened. 

I would let go 

of the church swing set 

on the highest arc. 

Wings on my Mary Janes. 

At peace, I was nothing  

but an angry pink blur. 

But I would fall  

and drag my bow and chain. 

I ran from that bow like  

a hangman’s noose, 

but it tightens every day.