Metamorphosis of a 14-Year-Old Girl

A sowbug, knocked over, stays trapped on its back,
fourteen legs flailing. The dank province of my
adolescence was a basement bedroom which
stank of too-long sleep, door closed to sunlit worlds.
In my greasy-haired sanctum, I forewent dreams,
fed on flat pop and chips while hunching toward
the warm desktop computer, my wire mother.
No locks on my internet–I went from
Neopets to pro-ana forums to porn.
In chatrooms, I spoke to men whose interest in
my breasts flattered me–as they were ungrown, two
Oreos. Over years, my body transformed.
In Kafka’s story, the people flee, screaming.
I couldn’t get anybody to see me.