I was created, hands added their texture,
Hands moulded mine, words dove straight
Into my fabric, echoes that were not mine,
Voices, forlorn, ever-expanding, across my unborn
Skin, layer after layer, they sang to me, sang
Me to life, held me there, stewing, stretched
To the left, pulled to the right, squeezing
Into myself to stay close to my own heart.
Nowhere to hide, nowhere to resign,
I heard them, enter and develop,
Shades into my ears, a concoction of the past
A promise for the future, survival, I wonder whose,
From theirs, to hers, to mine, poking my body
With fingernails and stomachaches, holding
On to lives that are lived and gone, holding
On to a body unborn, mine, with their heartaches and chaos,
Their ambiguities and indecisiveness, neediness,
Everything they haven’t done,
They speak to my body and I cannot be alone
From the beginning, I have never been alone,
I am part of a choir that is etched into my flesh,
They all scream at me, wanting more and more,
Taking over, the dead invaded me within the womb
And as I was born, they were reborn too.
Croque-Melpomene 