fatima aamer bilal, from moony moonless sky’s ‘shame sighs in my chest like a spare set of lungs, i. the humiliation of being intolerable devours me.’
[text id: i never got to be a child. / i had a childhood, but i was never a kid; a worrying spine bending in a little body. / i was such a plotter with my schemes, trying to get everyone to like me. / to appear interesting, i always had a deck of cards on me. a hidden plea; play with me please? / i was so busy making up for my inadequate looks by trying to adapt new skills. / JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE. / so caught up in, shaving skin and swallowing flaws. / i avoid looking into a mirror to an extent where my reflection takes me by surprise sometimes. / i thought it would be easier if i just forget. / i have borrowed this skin from my mother, and not once has she asked for it back. / around her, there's always an apology lodged up my throat: mother, i haven't made you very proud, have i? / being out in the open feels like canines tearing through my back. / i can't look into anyone's eyes, i fear i'll find the resentment that's surely there. / the biting ache of recognizing, 'unwanted' as my second name, birthed a hungry mouth, waiting for a hand. / so i wear different skins to be out in public and shed it like a snake between the walls of my room. / shame sighs in my chest like a spare set of lungs. the humiliation of being intolerable devours me. / a better punching bag than a person, and i try to make sure that i get the best punch out of everyone else. / it hurts less that way. / "every vacant seat is taken until you pass by. so was the space on the merry-go-round in the playground. must you be always this unbearable?" / and i wonder if my shadow wasn't tied to my feet, would it leave me? / burning for so long. / my fate is not a star, neither are ashes. just a fire that keeps flaring and blazes everything in its wake. / had barbed wires for nerves; never was easy to touch. / standing jagged under the withering sun, it's laughable how the only body that has grazed my own has the capacity to burn a million worlds. / but i must confess; i might just be the smoke. suffocating everything. / and i might just be a delightful creature. dressing up as an open wound in see-through gauze and expecting vultures to not pounce. / terrifyingly, i would be disappointed if they didn't and host a dinner for them. / hosting dinner for the vultures: an offering is an offering. be it made on an altar, a slaughterhouse, or to a kid in the playground. / what is the need of being wanted if not begging to be ripped open, in hopes of being found desirable? / the utensil to my misery: my hands. /and even if i were to cut them off, i would still be left with all the blood that is coursing through my veins.]
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