pomes

bath;

And when I’m in a tub of my own
Vanilla-scented filth, hugging
My thighs & scraping my knees
With my teeth – I am happy.
When I am biting at my flesh,
Feeling my spine stretch
Like a mountain – when I am
Bone and war, when gravity
Pulls my nose towards the water,
And I am a threshold between
Microclimate – hot & cold bumps of real-life skin –
When nothing matters,
When the rolls of flesh don’t matter,
The prickle-hairs don’t matter,
The goosebumps, the blotches of red and white –
I am a mountain wrapped round my thighs,
And I love my body.
And I want no one
To share this moment with me.

-s.f. (2014)

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pomes

human

Maybe
Being alone
Was never the empty rooms
Or vacant spaces;
Perhaps the loneliness grew
From the fractures and fissures
On the top of your tongue
That said,

“Hide the parts that aren’t good enough;”

Continue reading “human”