I want to remember my scars. So I am a fragment.
I draw on my legs. When my skin dries out, I use my index finger as a pencil and draw what the clouds are trying to tell me. Sometimes it’s a dog, and sometimes it’s a bear and sometimes it is his face looking at me disapprovingly.
That is when I stop drawing.
At night, when the rain falls, I sit at the bay window and pretend to write stories whilst he pretends to sleep. “What are you writing?” he will ask in his asleep voice. “A funny story.” It is not. It is a pale, scary story, and it looks like my skin. “Were you dreaming?” I will ask him and he will always nod and say, “Yes, a good dream.” No, it is not. I have seen how his back tenses and sweats in the moonlight when he sleeps.
I worry when I read scientific facts, so he hides the newspapers from me when he is done. I always find them and spread them out on the table till every inch of it is covered. Today's newspaper said that the average human sheds eighteen kilograms of skin throughout their lifespan.
I am not sure about how I feel about the fragments dropping in trains and cars and planes and traveling to places I shall never go.
“Do you think you’ll ever go to Japan?”
“Doubt it. I shall never have the money.”
“I bet parts of you have already got there.”
“You and your fragments.”
“Me and my fragments. We’re both so uncomfortable.”
“My fragments and I. And it’s not you, or them that are uncomfortable.”
“What is it, then?”
“It's just this skin you are in.”
A little secret: I had the last line of this tattooed to my skin soon after the poetry slam.
Also www.facebook.com/pages/Untamed… - general facebookery
it's as if you have made friends with your fragments and possibly even your skin.
at least that is how this reads to me, personally and i should like to do do the same
or have wished to do so
a [very very]
a dramatic side effect has me say
since time before memory
however i must only reiterate the first line of my comment.
this sounds a bit stoic - i am full of joy on this : ]
it reminds me of fear
fear of self
relationships are foiled when people don't know themselves.
perhaps I got it wrong but the essence is sadness and that part cant be denied.
I just read this aloud, and can picture the poetry slam you attended (via imagination and going to slams).
It's a wonderful piece and I think you're wonderful to slam it, and even tattoo the last line. 'Slam dunk'.
Thank you for sharing it now.
I wrote prosetry when I was first here and nobody thought about it until now. (I guess.) It's a rhythmic prose piece.