My mother catches
Me hemming the insides of my womb
With a fine toothed comb.
Yesterday a man tried to bury
A generation of children in me
With a hand grenade.
She asks me if i’ve eaten,
And proceeds to hand me our neighbours gossip
Like a bowl of cooling soup.
I am forced to become the neighbour’s boy,
A body that raises itself into people’s homes
And claims their hard work for his addictions.
I become my mother’s addictions,
I become the space in which her dreams are released.
I become the one to not become her.
I become the lover always leaving,
I become the acid burn in lover’s stomachs,
Long before i start to create the formula
Of how to run from love and commitment,
I become their self-doubt,
The voice inside their inside-voice
That will always remind them the reasons
Why you should never trust a woman
With coal underneath her tongue,
And poetry in between her thighs.
Image (taken off google)by: Daniela Raytchev