a reluctant poem

Written on June 12 at Write Here Write Now; took until now to decide whether I wanted to post publicly.

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She changed my mind.
Baptized my brain in cortisol
without laying a hand.
By not laying a hand.
I am Harlow's monkeys,
she is the hollow cloth form
I cling to still,
knowing it's hollow, and yet.

I prattled away as a child to her,
a figment of my own imagination,
never knowing I was alone,
never knowing she was
carefully making me
in her hollow image.