What is in my body that makes me weep?
Despite the happy little moments too little to keep.
Despite the tingly churn in the deep of your core;
The sweet dripples from the tongue of your lover.
The tears you licked from their cheek.

What is in my body that makes me look elsewhere?
Despite the comfort that is always there
Of a mother’s protection or a friend’s soft stare.
When the sun is shining and you’re sitting beside them,
Silence is fluent and words are spared.

What is in my body that the limits my mind?
The child wanting to escape the catacombs built inside.
The herd of horses held back by leashes.
The storm in a jar evaporating as I speak this.
An umbrella in my hands thwarting all sunshine.

Who is in my body when I deny my name?
Despite delicate moments when my crises are tame
And the mirror sheds its simulated black skin;
A screen I painted to cage my reflection in
To keep those sharp teeth from reducing me to shame.
Who is in my body and what is her name?