Dragging In An Audience | Taking Part In Your Mental Illness | A Poem

I sit in your sickness,

You watched my birth

And wanted to attach

Me to your body.

You faked love.

You looked at her.

Sullied every piece of

My mother tongue.

Offering nothing in return.

Looked at the flaws

Of her body, of mine,

Ignored how our lungs filled with air

How our mouths spoke and formed words

How we could run and laugh,

None of it mattered,

Health didn’t matter.

Women’s heads in the kitchen sink.

Your hands wanting to hurt,

To cross lines, but then she started to

Look beautiful to you, too pretty to destroy.

You turned to the duplication of your face instead.

The one grimacing at me right now,

The degeneration of your language

That had only been present through curses and wrath

And endless scenes of violence.

You hunted yourself instead.

Beat yourself, beat him, and me, and him,

Instead, your own face, what you saw in us,

What you wanted gone within yourself,

And I tried to give birth to myself again

And again and again, shutting you out

The wounds on my body,

The words hammering against my skull, just fuck off.

And I spoke to myself, get out of here, you’ll get out of here,

Out of his sickness, I could barely breathe,

Your hands, your voice, your steps were everywhere,

In the house we built and you contaminated

Every single wall that watched silently,

The walls that masterminded her depression, everything

Just kept growing and nobody would listen

Because I never forgot how to smile,

So how on earth could life be that bad?

Schlafendes Mädchen” by Egon Schiele (1890-1918)

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