2.15.05

December 25, 2013 § Leave a comment

when I was little more
than a little girl
I took a 1000 mile trip
with a boy who told me
it was ok to starve
myself if that’s what
I wanted to do; who
justified my resentment
of those who would
restrain me, curtail my desire
to disappear. for years after that
trip, after we had been broken up
for years he occupied
a space of rage in my
thoughts: how could he have
how dared he tell me
I had the freedom to die,
even as he imprisoned me
through forced confessions of love?
how dare he abet
my own self violence?
but I see now that I wanted
that violence, then
for reasons of my own:
for reasons of my own desire
to purge myself of desire
and so I see
that he was right to insist
that my body, too, was my own
to mutilate or to torture
or to heal:

I had to get over that shit myself,
see; I had to get over that shit
myself.

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