Scissors cut me up,
along my chest,
into strange shapes,
into pieces.

Pieces which tell me to not be who I am,
pieces which tell me to slow down,
pieces which tell me to lower my voices,
pieces which break me down.

And there I stand skinless,
raw blood and bone,
breathing with everything showing,
Life, slowly going.

But my heart beats,
as obnoxious as it may be,
vile and needy,
but struggling to be free.

So take it out,
in your hands.
Feel its last attempts
to cry out,
before it dies out!