The Clit

the latched on dance of one
the attachment to the other one
the schizophrenia of ones psyche;
breakdown
has just begun.

the dance of one
the attachment to the other one

this time i want for none
that time i wanted for none
but now i’m back again
to take it down

the dance of one
the attachment to the other one

I’ve returned to take you with me
to the underbelly – the point of no reprieve;
i have come to stung
sting like a bee
on estrogen

of bees and women
of children and cum
i have been strung
by the umbilical chord that saved my life
that day

i have become something i don’t recognize
i have come to take back that night
when i strangled my right
to feel

when i swallowed my cry
for help
when the shard of rock took on the shape
of a box; a heart mined for a shoal mind

i have fought
cloth, dirt, and blood
metal, fire and wood
fungus-bacteria
with hysteria
the criteria
the clit
of the tip
of that place
that was to debase
my very existence –

and we converse…
…let’s converse
(till there is silence
and there in the silence,
in it’s discomfort, it’s true:

you never really loved me
did you?).

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