On being the biggest dissapointment

I could be the clump of dirt
at the back of your throught.

Once, I was exciting, my laugh
was the center of all joy, my ghasp
the only sound that held

pleasure.

Now, these things fly at you
like bullets, my voice is the knife
that tears at your skin. You know
what to expect, tiny, unexplained

scars, tiny, unexplained
noises. And so here I am

alone and waiting in my white
dress, in the clothes you bought
me when I was still the sun

that shone down upon your face,
when I still did not know what
it meant to live with rib spreaders
holding open my most precious

cavity.

Close me up, with the red thread
only you keep in stock. Hold me down
though I squirm, push the needle in
and out of my flesh. I’ve felt worse

than this before. I’ve done worse
than this before.

3 Comments

Filed under Musings, poetry

3 responses to “On being the biggest dissapointment

  1. Wow, you can write.
    Consider submitting to mindsprocket.com

  2. Emily

    this is definitely powerful! i don’t know what else to say.

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