Do you hear my skin breathing?
My heart beat is dry heaving,
it is so loud, it is drowning me,
and i,
cannot,
breathe.
Except through my skin,
that breathes your fingerprints in,
through my barrier-made flesh.
I think i am quite empty, now.
My head is reservoir, dry,
though sometimes there are a lot of bees,
so i don't have to think...so much.
and there is only quiet darkness,
when i close my eyes,
and unbecome.
-
I wonder what I am becoming,
as i become something for you,
as i, become, a something, for, you.
Turn me around again, and again,
I can smile, for you,
because its much more seemingly right,
and quietly simple,
than to cry.
Though many nights i am defeated by myself,
i stifle the sounds i make,
sandwiched inbetween the karaoke bars,
and late night redezvous of cars.
I can fill the black chasm of my chest,
with the life from the tears in my pillow,
and my hair will hold all my dead dry weight,
my weight of sorrow to feed my shame,
as i am made wrapped up, to be-made for you.
I would willingly drown,
if it meant i could escape this anguish of an island,
where i am not seen,
Invisible
yet touched,
and adored,
where i am not become,
until you unravel me undone.
So here i am,
on my knees,
and i have no way of knowing,
what i have become for you,
But you see a gift,
and you may take me now,
just as i am,
sold as seen.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
Do you hear my skin breathing?
My heart beat is dry heaving,
it is so loud, it is drowning me,
and i,
cannot,
breathe.
Except through my skin,
that breathes your fingerprints in,
through my barrier-made flesh.
I think i am quite empty, now.
My head is reservoir, dry,
though sometimes there are a lot of bees,
so i don't have to think...so much.
and there is only quiet darkness,
when i close my eyes,
and unbecome.
-
I wonder what I am becoming,
as i become something for you,
as i, become, a something, for, you.
Turn me around again, and again,
I can smile, for you,
because its much more seemingly right,
and quietly simple,
than to cry.
Though many nights i am defeated by myself,
i stifle the sounds i make,
sandwiched inbetween the karaoke bars,
and late night redezvous of cars.
I can fill the black chasm of my chest,
with the life from the tears in my pillow,
and my hair will hold all my dead dry weight,
my weight of sorrow to feed my shame,
as i am made wrapped up, to be-made for you.
I would willingly drown,
if it meant i could escape this anguish of an island,
where i am not seen,
Invisible
yet touched,
and adored,
where i am not become,
until you unravel me undone.
So here i am,
on my knees,
and i have no way of knowing,
what i have become for you,
But you see a gift,
and you may take me now,
just as i am,
sold as seen.
A poem in collaboration with an artist who painted a naked geisha kneeling on the floor, for an exhibit which focused on female identity.
Request permission to use this poem