you know where it hurts | a dead skin poem

I was born into the shadows of the dead

their whispers and distorted fragmented minds

reflected on my skin, weighing down my bones

you hold me close and I stop breathing

I sit in a house anticipating your entrance

making myself smaller, hoping you won’t see me

won’t find me, won’t feed me to the wolves

I’d open up my head, open it wide and deep

to stuff all the horrors in it

squeeze them in, more and more,

what the body can’t hold,

can’t close it anymore

I’m folding now

I look at stains and wrinkles and holes

the overflow, the chaos, the knots and split ends

I dye your hair on my head

I powder your skin on my face

I roll up my sleeves, I cover you up

I put colours and colours in-between the torturous black and white

the extremes, incompatible

I have a key, I have a key, I use it well

I shut you out

I wish my body could do the same

Photo by Rene Asmussen on

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