Blurring

My back started curving one day when I
wasn't watching. (It was listening
when I told myself to hide.)
I craned my head forward, up, out,
teenage hunchback,
a question mark fallen on its side.
And now I don't know how to right myself--
except when he shows me, when
he moves my shoulders down and
my neck back and
my stomach up somehow
(it's in my throat)
and his hands flit over me,
fixing me in a hundred places,
all the places where I warped what I was given.
And it feels like sunshine, or slower waves.
I think about starting over. Is this starting over?
I blur lines, body and mind.
And I couldn't tell you which side of them I'm on,
or if sides even exist when
the sun is on my edges with his flitting hands,
throwing shadows out of my shape,
lifting their weight because he can.
As I watch, he irons the dark shapes to the ground
which holds all bodies
and all secrets.