Shedding

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A different theme since.

Submitted: November 23, 2015

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Submitted: November 23, 2015

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A A A


I am not your asylum for empathy. I am
your storm and your tidal waves of lust.
In the arch of my back and the curve of my neck,
mercury floods onto stone. Rubble, from
all of the bridges I had burned. You could never
ore the mines of my astatine heart, my basalt skin
would shift at your touch, closing each gap I left open.

I think about the girl who I once was. 
Under the frills of chiffon and white satin,
was a pool of subjection, susceptibility, self-
evasion.
I couldn't think without your thoughts, couldn't
breathe without your lungs. I couldn't feel
without your touch. I was a martyr to us.

I tore my silks and burned my linens, and the
sheets we shared. You swore to walk through fires
for me, for us, but you watched them burn with bromine
tears. I licked them from your cheek.

My skin has evolved since, stretching over the hills
we once lay upon. An avalanche inside me shook
my breath as I cried over the nights I had lost,
and an earthquake growled under your touch.

I notice you've since left your hometown, along with
all of the hymns you whispered to me, they
collect dust in my memory. But my skin still burns
where your fingerprints stay, they have more nerve
than you ever did.


© Copyright 2020 AlanaLouiseMcDermott. All rights reserved.

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