Matina by Ruela

Look

*

blocked

there are no secrets in this house

the emotions are too large.

silence has burned shadows, outlines

of despair etched in the walls.

I have cut my tongue,

bled words through clenched teeth

just to have something to

show for all this nothing.

pulling the dead

from my throat, double

handfuls of guts twisted

in too many broken fingers

I have tried to break free of this

blank expectant page

.

beauty

I held the sea, black bleeding

fingers, words flooding to

fill the gaps, fingers in holes

to stop the escaping. hands lacking the iron

spikes that have gone missing.

but need is fulfilled with sharp sucking

sounds and voids left

dry. I am left. I will

not die again. I will not release

to the prying fingers. There is no

twisted skin, there is

nothing much to hold and little time

for my blue eyes to see.

.

...

Almost all of our relationships begin and most of them continue as forms of mutual exploitation,
a mental or physical barter, to be terminated when one or both parties run out of goods.

- W H Auden

"Something of Birth"

....

they say I was her, died in November 1906 of pneumonia, water logged lungs, floating in an exquisite penumbral logic, born again in this life, 1969, pneumonia again, wee incubator, my awkward home, little fat legs kicking, arms pumping in indignation.

Step 1 and Done!