Shame is a country… It’s the universe. It’s the experience of living in a body. It’s the experience of being a body subjected to things going in and coming out without consent.

Patient, plodding, a green skin growing over whatever winter did to us, a return to the strange idea of continuous living despite the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then, I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.

you’re on the phone with your mother again,   but in this dream, you are                                    screaming                    endlessly                                                endlessly                        endlessly. no words careen          out of your broken mouth                        just guttural,                                    wounded sound.                                                you are           ceaseless, you give                                                            no room for her to respond, but in this dream,            she doesn’t feel the need to.                                                                          in this dream,                                                                                   she understands.

NOTICE:

You’re healing every time you

“The truth is if I keep forgetting I may scratch myself to pieces. // The truth is don’t touch me.”

Isn’t that the truth Desire you left But I went on I am still here now In the screaming light