creating a picked scab

my beautiful daughter-
i’ve molded her shape
made her into the ideal image

creating first her strong bones,
to give her something to break
in her spirit too foolish
and brave.

then i strung to those bones a muscle
sinews and tough
to create ungentle hands
and then in her soft spots i placed fat,
to give her something to bruise.

next strung together her veins
(in this order,
to give her that foreboding sense of being made wrong)
spinning like spooling thread,
to carry blood thick and sluggish
that will bleed easily
and stain all it touches.

i gave her skin
(to give her something ruin)
i gave her hair
(to give her something others will ruin for her)
and, my cruelest gift of all,
i gave her a heart too kind for this blunt body,
in a cage of ribs thick as iron bars,
an emotional organ
tender against the sharp and unyielding bone that i made for her.