The philosopher girl turns the page 
and pretends the story isn’t over 

The philosopher girl looks out upon 
a field of pollen and contradicts 
those who only see enough flowers 
for their bouquet

The philosopher girl carries her body 
like it is treasure 
The philosopher girl carries her body 
like nobody has ever told her 
it isn’t good enough 

The philosopher girl looks like a crowd 
and speaks with the cry of the many

The philosopher girl knows 
the planets must be depressed 
Circling the same path
each foot knows its place 
like the finger to warm clay
Knees orbiting jaw
teeth like headstones to a shattering voice 

The philosopher girl peeks 
under her own skirt to taste the blush 
a wet hand tries to return the blood 
a vulgar foreshadowing to womanhood 

The philosopher girl
lifts her shackles to prove 
that she will rise with
or without the darkness 

The philosopher girl 
reads to us from her epilogue 
and acts like her end
hasn’t already been written