at all

You don't know that i am allergic to pennicillin or about my obsession with Sylvia Plath. You don't know that i write poetry. You don't know that i am kosher or that i love the color yellow. You don't know that my muse is Jane Bennet, or that i hate carbonation, and only pretend to like Earl Grey Tea. You don't know that i have a 25 inch waist, size seven shoe & two missing teeth. You don't know that i pass out when i feel too much. You don't know that i'm terrified of elevators and crosswalks and parking garages and heights. You don't know why my jaw only opens two finger-widths. You don't know that i take 800 calories a day, that i was anorexic last summer. You don't know that i read 17 books last semester, or how careful i am with my heart. You don't know, i bet, the father i come home to, the sickness and shame and manipulation that seeps through our walls, that there is a reason for my training in being a doormat. You don't know that THAT'S why i started singing. That it's my 'out'. You don't know why i'm still so happy, or even that i AM so happy. You know me, perhaps, but you don't know me at all.