Me and my weapons

I am encased in this:
Me, I grew up years ago
when I spread my wings across that city
took that taxi on my own
clutching a briefcase- 12 and old, in lipstick, heels
and a false sense of security
camera by my side, ready to capture the world
so I could hold it in my hand and view myself a God
or maybe just a girl.
I photographed the puddles, a man, a sky, a day
the dogs that roamed the park
in little packs of heavy lidded hopefuls
hungry like my self, and longing for a home.
Me, I am in everything that made that city gray
An orphan of the Upper East, plastic, sweet,
withstanding every blow -like you said strong women did.
An icy little girl, smiling at the man who looked me up and down
Said: 'why, you're a real-life porcelain doll my girl'
hardly understanding how true he really was

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