fluent image of my mirrored self,
an expulsion of the wooden building blocks I stuffed into separate spaces
when I wore the pale blue onesie that you purchased for me
while you didn’t hold hands,
and you didn’t kiss.
did you speak of me at all?
was a future of my selfhood ever even blended into the sperm that you shaped yourself around?
unabashedly ignorant and martyred,
I was the jackal in your womb.
when I bolstered myself and courageously leaped onto the water slide
of sunny, desolate Florida,
I thought back to when you first forced me forth.
you were the only water slide I knew,
before I even knew what a bruise would look like,
your milky pool was comfort and seemingly torture
before you decided to take even the slightest of plunges into my side of our kinship.
now, we are both square pieces of glass,
an hour apart.
I want to shatter you until you are the sharp dust of a memory
and then I want to inhale you until you leave
the deepest cuts in my self that I ever
had the guts to bleed.