.
.
I am easily come undone
a piece of clothing fastened with velcro
one size fits all
able to absorb too many times too much
I am weighted by the gown of receptivity, sensitivity,
blackness to repel you
softness to embrace you
.
a piece of velcro which winds about the neck, the chest, the heart
is easily pulled apart
my heart is easily ripped apart
I am dismembered from my chest in a kind of self arrest
from the crest of the blackness of self
.
I am a twin, a clone of all I adore
or a curtain to all I abhor
a curtain of black which can’t
be pulled back
a garb I can’t retract
a guard I can’t relax
I am alone but not alone in coming apart
see this tear across my heart.
.
I am a piece of clothing
not a shield and I am the one beneath the cloth
the elusive, hiding, squirming self
no one can find
and finding no one i am too tight, too soft, to clingy, too loose
never say too loose
too recluse but not too loose.
the others – loose jointed, unafraid
speak truth
I squeak at most
.
I am a cloth flung limp across the arm
I am, I think, in need of serious repair,
a pair of faded jeans,
white at the wrinkles, deep in the creases, holes in places,
patches in bright colours,
underneath, material, threadbare
.
I am barely hanging on, barely hanging in
a pair of jeans fitting too loose one day, too tight another,
a rag doll, mouth sewed shut, thick seam here.
I am sewed tight across the chest, the waist, the legs,
sometimes it’s hard to move in this body.
Stiff.
.
I’ve been washed too many times
becoming limp and hard to stay on anyone
hard to stay with any one
hard
to hang together.
I am easily ripped apart.
.
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