I have unwound myself, 
covered in tangles and snarls
unable to see my skin;

I am purple and blue,
green yellow – bruised
like a over-ripe banana, 
twisted from the stem
splattered over the kitchen walls-
from blending my pieces without a lid.

I tried to congeal, refit myself back
into the mold I had been forcibly peeled from
unable to return 
(my smiles ripped away from me, broken)

I’ve been put in a pressure cooker,
unable to escape the locked lid, screaming, 
[unheard]. I can’t live like this, the steam 
will crack, and reform – different. 

I am whispered after, 
lost, waiting to be found –
unable to read a map enough
to save myself: my mother always told
me that’d I’d lose my way;

I’m cracked, pieced back together 
with glue- some of my pieces lost, between
the cracks of my memories- erased.

I have unwound …


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