bedtime teachings | fears of death | a childhood poem

your body, skin, dough before the ovenheat

grows around me, obscene,

accumulation, tiptoeing, obsolete,

I bruise inside, look down, look down,

he hardens as I melt

my heart beating against his body

against the fragrance of this foul intimacy

that robs me of my vocabulary


I could imagine his carcass all too well

I saw it in his eyes

his hands

as he approached my body

with the nightmares in his head


I touched myself

because you couldn’t


harm l e s s


and I learned that

only if I became a spectacle

I’d get the applause

the affection

stepping into the shoes laid out for me


I put a smile on men’s faces



but when I did it in public

they’d send me to my room

as if they had nothing to do with me

a s  i f


death taught me

where to find the rot


sleep held me like a sarcophagus

pretence begged memory to bury every single night


seeking me out with my eyes closed

and I’d stop hearing the applause

the stage is set


and I dream of that house

again and again

the rooms that I buried my selves in

Photo by Alexander Ant on

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