everywhere i go
i find people who i could love
who i could know forever
who i could sleep with and cry with and trust with my secrets
but i hold back because i know
that they will get old, get married
or i will move away

in one town i am ripe
with confidence, poise,
heroin model clothes,
proud of the breeze on my legs,
bold in the heat and sun

two hours to the next town where my posture changes
the skirt, the bra strap
suddenly white trash
hot afternoons sprawled on the porch
too uncouth to care about the exposed skin,
the sweat at the backs of my knees

which life is mine?
the one that is easiest?
or the one that is least degrading?
and which is which? which is less a lie?
and what friends will i find in each place
only to lose in the transitions