i feel myred
in pasts
(this is my
work
too, to make sense
out of this
mess)
i want to scrape
myself clean
below naked
to scrape off
all these boys
their dreams
that i
nutured
their nightmares
that i soothed
their shape of
seeing the world
that i wrapped my head
around
and around
until
i got dizzy because it was not my shape
i want to spit their
saliva out of my mouth
and wipe their sexstains
off me
and not
hold all this as sacred history
i want to put it into a dance
that i can stamp into the soil
and restore some
rhythm
some balance
to my life
i want to trust my own weight
and gravity
to know that if i do this
i will not simply melt off
after the next one
land in his lap until
i make myself crazy again
i want to sit, sucked into the
soil,
to feel my heart and
hold myself down with my fingers
until my nakedness speaks for itself
and any smile i have is
genuine. until
i am no longer frozen under glacial layers
of pasts and pasts
and when (if) you come to me
my hands movement (to take
yours, to hold it)
will be my own
and i can love myself warm
(not through the glaciers)
