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Under the glass

May 11, 2014
spent so many days writing for you.
I cannot get any of the time back.
The days were thrown away with frenzied fever.
And its all that I can do.
So I did it again.
It was 8000 or more
and my hands are so sore.
I will never send it to you
but it it is done.

I will do it again
and again.
feel the burn.
yes I know.
You don’t like it.
the burn is my own.

I spent so many days writing for you.
I still have the time cemented in place.
when you said not to bother.
It still has the taste.
Of rejection and malice
the bitterness.
I would rip it out
with your mouth and
your tongue.

I am not the one.
I keep my tongue
planted firmly
between my teeth.

I spent so many days writing for you.
I spent so many days writing for you.
I cannot get any of the time back.
The days were thrown away with frenzied fever.
And its all that I can do.
So I did it again.

I spent so many days writing for you.
I spent so many days writing for you.

I spent so many days writing for you.
I spent so many days writing for you.

From → Uncategorized

One Comment
  1. Celeste permalink

    I don’t ‘begin’ by ‘writing’: I don’t write. Life becomes
    text starting out from my body. I am already text. History,
    love, violence, time, work, desire inscribe it in my body, I
    go where the ‘fundamental language’ is spoken, the body
    language into which all the tongues of things, acts and beings
    translate themselves, in my own breast, the whole of reality
    worked upon my flesh… recomposed into a book.
    (”Writing” 52) CIxous

    Your body and your sentiment are texts themselves- you write for you and with yourself and no one else. Your body, your words! You’re also your own best editor- silence languages of patriarchy, violence (etc) with your body. You do it so well- tongue between your teeth. 😉 x

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