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


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