I want to rip my bellybutton open
(tear through the ****** mess of fibers,
the knots of lies I’ve woven,
and the constricting seams that stitch me up)
because I tore off a piece of my soul
buried it deep down inside
and left it to suffocate in the cotton filling,
screaming and shouting
beneath the padding
till it’s voice began to fray—
moth-eaten.