Stigma
This stigma that accompanies me
Leaving marks, clawing at me
Of having scratches on my skin, made out of words
That don't reach the meaning of what I want to mean
Of getting stuck in the middle of the road
But knowing the way with my eyes closed
Of wanting to show and knowing I'll never get there
Painting with my hands closed and the body in tumult
Because it's always less than half
But a very full half.
Words are not enough, my dear
Words will never be enough, sweet one
You’ll have to taste
You’ll have to breathe my breath
You’ll have to feel my touch of hand
You’ll have to lick my skin
You’ll have to take a look inside and take what’s left
You’ll have to sleep my slumber
You’ll have to wake my days
Hand in hand I’ll take you, eyes closed
To the same places I’ve been to countless times
And to new places I’ve never been to
You’ll have to endure the metamorphosis into ME
You’ll have to swallow the same, find a new name
Rename our cocoon and probably name it US
And when we’re sweetly removed from the surrounding portion
Only then will you touch the way I touch
To feel the way I feel
And only then will the few words for endless things
stop
scratching
my
skin.