The Butcher Of Intuition: A Poem

What would have happened

If you hadn’t burned down

The soil that you raged and rested on?

Would it have been easier for me to move?

Would I have felt my own body?

Wouldn’t your words have overwritten my own texture?

Overruled my gestures, would I have existed

And lived outside of your dictation?

I was a cloud when I should have been the tempest.

I cried when I should have yelled.

I smiled when I despaired.

You tore out one brick after the other

And told me that I should be a fortress

Whilst your hands ruined me

And I was forced to find shelter amongst the bricks you stole

My own within you, aggrandised and reinforced,

Integrated, your fortress,

And I lost faith in the holiness of my abandoned and revisited ruins

As I trusted ancestral hands instead of my own body.

Photo by Ioana Motoc on

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