sometimesihatemycat

Why do I fight
The urge to filet myself
To gut myself from groin to gullet
I could let my contents spill freely
Splat, with room inside to move
I’d grab ahold of a rib or two
And climb out of this cracking carcass
Emerge anew, embryonic and elastic
Shiny and sure, unable to speak
To sit upright, or feed myself, yet
Soon I would babble, squirm, and learn
Let them have the old pieces
A bit of me for each family
They can hang it, dance around, and hit
Or throw my leftovers on a spit, I’d like to
Finish this trial by fire and let them consume
While the new blob of me wiggles away
Glistening and glad of it
I’d find another future
Maybe the next me will own my own skin
It’s almost time, as I eye the knife
To begin again

-a.r.

Paintings: Three Studies for a Crucifixion by Francis Bacon

~ by April on January 10, 2015.

Posted in Abuse, Body, Dance, Death, Family, God, Humanity, Identity, Loss, Marriage, Meditation, Motherhood, Poetry, Women's Issues, Women's Rights, Writing
Tags: Abuse, Artist, Authenticity, Body, Courage, crucifixion, Death, Dysmorphia, Family, Fear, Francis Bacon, Life, pain, Poet, poetry, rape, Rebirth, reborn, Recovery, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Voice, Writer, Writing