A History

[becomingbutterfly]

My words fly from my side
Dripping, pumping, gushing chips of muscle and bone
Teeth spat out of a cotton dry mouth
A crumbling rib cage that shudders and groans

The slight burn slides down my throat
To hide the lump that rises there
A thermos of rage boils onto the page
On typed sheets it comes bare

I remember the ziggarat, an ark, a pyramid
Like Karnak or Copan but within the polis
An agoraphobic boat above the law's moat
Holding the sickness within its solace

They tied me to the Ishtar gate with silky thread
My wrists bore the pressure of hands
Each chunk of flesh the bruises contused
While my hourglass emptied of sand

So I stare up at a hanging dying man each day
Crying why into every drop of blood
Screaming into every scar on his body that mirrors
My own life, each memory, this flood

Until I realize that this is a Pyrrhic victory
That it's foolish to compare scars to my God
That what I really want is for someone to kiss my scars
And hold me until the icy pain has thawed

And so in each open palm I am curled
A girl collected into fragments rare
Wounded and hidden in wounds
So that I might be healed there

[edited to add a missing stanza]

[catfish]

Dear Becoming Butterfly,

your words are beautiful, you make something beautiful out of your pain. I would like to kiss your scars and make them better, and hold you till you're warm. I wouldn't be scary, I am a never-scary mom...we could comfort each other.
I love your poem, your words moved me.

Catfish

[Scarlett]

This is wonderful.

[becomingbutterfly]

catfish, awwwww thank you so much. Really. Your words are so sweet and just the thought of having someone to hold me and love me is very comforting. I'm glad you liked the poem. Sending you lots of loving care and support too.

Scarlett, thank you. I appreciate your support very much. Sending you kind thoughts and caring too.