(what have you done.)
there is no faster way to yourself than falling in love with the right person for the wrong reasons. what a wounded place to exist in. the body pulls apart at the junctures of gap junctions in the heart, begs for a different reality, begs to be dead, begs for a different life, immediately tries to claw through time to a better time across the universe. a dead thing stays beating caught in its helpless rhythm chanting obscenely to a new melody – “I am” instead of “We are” – and you are not here.
months later the fog lifts.
no one is here.
none of us are here.
the reality i feel echoes in me pleasantly
I am suddenly all of me enough. (oh
what did you do to me.)
you are always here because in the leaving of it I am more me, and I am more you too.
I am more of everyone.
(how did you do this.)
that stuff of me the inside is that carapace the steel the bone, i ate the metal of my exoskeleton after you, chewed my outsides for a change, I have swallowed all the stone scales and rough sand,
all the chains and all bulletproof vests –
I ate my snakeskin and razor tongue.
I ate my scorpion tail.
I ate my Rage and my Respect
I ate like a growing embryo, a fetus,
like a hungry thing, I was a hungry thing
I was so so hungry all the time, I was Hunger
Hunger Hunger, (maybe that’s why I met the Cook in the garden)
I was starved so I ate.
I almost ate you but you didn’t let me and I knew
I knew it was wrong, but I was – just I was just –
I was starved so I ate myself.
I ate myself the way others ate me too –
But the body is always cleverer than the mind. And I
have been writing a long long time in the wrong wrong way
about the right thing, but my clever hand and its flexible fingers,
peeking under the stone of my skin finally shed all the
iron masks and carapace i left lying on
the other side of the room
years ago left her behind
and I felt light years ago,
light and empty
light like the kind of lightness
without protection, and when I met you,
I was so starved
I was starved for myself,
and after you,
I ate myself the parts I had left
in the corner of the room
the metal and the bone,
i ate it all because we eat
to fill ourselves and to heal ourselves
we eat what we need we eat what we need we eat what we need i stuffed
my metal fist into my mouth to stop crying, and I ate my hand, but really
the body is always cleverer than the mind, and when I chewed off the moulting tongue,
it was only after when I knew oh my god
that girl really did die, snakeskin shed, and I ate her.
my writing is different so that must mean my heart is different, so I ate that heart too.
my writing is different so that must mean my fingers are different, so I ate my fingers.
my writing is different so that must mean my soul is different, and I ate my soul.
I ate myself because I needed myself.
Soulchanger, heart eater, what happens when you eat yourself?
And so I – she – had to die you know for this girl – Me.
I died for Me, for all of me, some of me for all of me
every spell is about making the most out of
very very little – and
the scrapyard junk metal was
it turns out not so junk
on the inside, in my blood and in my bones and in
all the ligaments,
So this girl was born in the air knowing how to move like hope and wind and freedom. This girl was born in a river knowing how to breathe underwater. This girl was born with with stone and earth in her bones and in her teeth. This girl was always made of fire, but not always made of light.
This girl was born in a cemetary, lifted
herself out of the earth, stared
at the tombstone near her head, smiled,
looked up and around
her and said “this place will be a garden,
inside and out. Yes, I will grow it with this seed and with My story. ”
This is a girl who looks like a girl, her skin is skin,
her heart is a heart, her skeleton is on the inside where
all the stuff of bone and stone and hard things belong,
and her hands her fingers her eyes – these
are rose petal newborn soft.
“The garden will have a wall,” she decides, and then smiles.
“But it will also have a gate.”
BeingLovedAgain smiles in the mirror, I can see her whole face, fully healed, only if I look very closely are there faint white lines, all the scars but I know they will heal too. She is exactly my age, exactly my height, exactly like me.
And when I open my mouth, hers opens too.
“I know what is in the grave now,” we say, together. She laughs and I do too, and
because it has to be said, we say it:
“It was me, just me, all of me, all along.”