poem

Peel back your skin

Peel
back
your skin.


There’s a
mask
underneath – don’t you
feel it?


Doesn’t it
itch?
It’s made of bone
and not yours. Haven’t
you felt
your body
fight it?


Peel back
your skin
for me – and we
will paint
your features back,
again.

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poem

Words my own

I want words my own.
I want them mine,
olive-tinted pearls
of lime and plum.

I want to pierce through
the mucus drops
with an bone awl
salvaged from
my splintered thumb.

I will treasure them
when strung on a strand
of my hair, conscientiously
plucked from a strange pillow
and I will wear these
words around my neck,
where they can be clutched
in times of muffled confusion.

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