Life gives us
soft,
fragile
form
in the beginning.
We begin
fuzzy,
clumsy,
blind to the blades
nature bestows as knowledge.
Some avoid the tree of good and evil,
adjusting to the bright exposure,
grasping binoculars to drink up the scene of sin.
Waiting to watch which love is truth.
Waiting to say who is evil in their attempt.
There I am.
in a shop full of knives.
Hungry to murder naivety,
no matter the price.
The reflective edge
illuminates my soft pain,
As I choose the sharpest edge
to electrify my new skin.
What drove mother crazy?
I had to taste the apple.
There was knowledge in the pain,
in the experience of carving your skin
with objects unable to care for your blood.
You who wanted to drink my pain,
sweet roots I made metal,
You never deserved to be seen in horror.
I have learned to stop opening the drawer,
to stop carving the names of dead love.
Life continues breathing,
as we become
strong,
worn
bark
born to form curious skin.