My Brain is My Womb

we met with my eyes closed, 

rolled into the back of my head,

awaiting the exorcist of adulthood.

you, veiled in a black sheet of stars 

were a bitter child of mine.

subconscious and clay skinned,

my childish fingers formed each blurred limb of your gnarled falsity.

I collected earthworms and quartz crystals and cut into them to draw out

the truth of innocence

on an impossibly bright playground.

all the while you shaped me into a bruise 

that covered even the ground I stepped upon.

the dirt that collected between my toes was a memory 

that I was filthy and would never let go.




 

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