People get too close. They touch you and you disappear. And then they’re inside. In your belly and in your head. And when you get back, there’s a smell. Someone else’s smell is inside your nose. And you check out. You tell people, “It’s fine. I don’t own my body.” You say, “My power is like a vacation. I get to be a tourist in someone else’s life.” Who cares if every time I come back home, I feel dirty?
