a very disjointed woman, but a woman nonetheless--
then i realised i still hadn't answered the question, because femininity is a lifelong ache

though.. an ache i can deal with these days, as opposed to
the way it would shoot through my veins and corrupt my heart
i apologise for being a product of my own suffering  
i really am sorry for only writing good poetry when the knife cuts deep
you have no idea how much i'd like to convince you i'm deep

in
rehabilitation from phantasms, but the truth is
right now i'm a woman that can only speak on anguish
because she doesn't feel it
numbs herself to it because she isn't real; or
a jagged piece of what she used to be (she's! not! me!)

if i allow myself to digress,
no words would make it to the surface
they all get eaten up by the beast in my belly
and spat back out as another ghost of the self

who am i outside of that vicious cycle?