I was a girl
And you touched what you wanted me to bury.
I buried and
Buried,
Flesh over flesh,
Skin on skin,
Kilogram over kilogram,
Womanhood over girlhood,
Childhood, buried,
Strings around your fingernails,
You defined and polluted what I would have become.
You spoke to me in gestures,
Letting me know,
Letting me take part,
Letting me perform,
Letting me relate to,
Letting me embody the images in your head,
Making me aware of you, not me,
I lie here, buried,
And you play with me, robbing me of my senses,
The words of revolt and outrage, no, indeed.
I put layers and layers
Of myself
On myself
Over myself
To not feel you anymore
To not let you in anymore
To feel less
You
Shut you out
Myself, as well,
And still, I’d be a feather in the wind.
Push and pull
And I’d still end up in your arms.
I’d eat myself into protection,
I wanted,
Needed thicker skin,
Recreating bits and pieces without your pestilent touch,
Stuffing, numbing, feeding
The void you tore into my body,
As if nothing of me was left,
A heart beating into nothingness,
Becoming your repetitive confessional box and torture chamber.
You’re still growing in my hands
In my spine,
In my skin,
Hands, thighs and mouth,
You wanted to be buried alongside me,
Within me,
But I am kicking you out.
Croque-Melpomene 