When asked to name my favorite movie
in fifth grade, the answer is simple, flies out
before any horse-girl bullshit comes to mind.
It’s Shrek—
my introduction to the years
that don’t stop coming.
 

And oh, how those years don’t stop coming—
My sorority sisters ask me to disclose my favorite movie.
I still have a fondness for little green ears,
so I slip into a little black dress, and out
falls, once again, Shrek. 

Did she say Shrek?
My sisters laugh, the sound comes
when called nowadays. I’ve learned crowds are safer when out
of breath, when small talk centers on movies

and not what I did (not do) last weekend. I can’t say my favorite movie  
is writing depressing poetry, but I can say it is Shrek,
disguise my truth in the story of an outsider 

looking for friends to undo him, to help him come out
of his swamp, shed his onion-like layers. So, I’ll say my favorite movie

is Shrek and pray that they are gentle in my unraveling