It’s not yours,
it’s ours.
An olive bitterness seeps out of the scar,
and it will forever.
The plume of green will shadow their parade,
they’ll try to sew it shut,
but their stitches aren’t enough.

This scar,
it’s not yours,
it’s the olive truth
that spills out of me every evening;
that’s when I think about the other girls
like me.
This is every Olive Grrrl’s bitterness.

We will breathe,
and we will seep
into them.
Their whiteness,
we’ll remember.


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