When my heart took up more of my body than I knew what to do with. When to draw breath was much too hard. When the joints could not bend without hurt. Healing is when the body learns to forgive itself for what it has done. Despite everything, it lets itself live. … © 2015 … More despite
There was a time when I wrote too much to know what I was writing. The same poems over and over again. Nothing much changes, over years, save the length of the sentence fragments and how they are arranged. When will the rhythm change, the same inflection and flatness masquerading as profundity. Perhaps this is … More what they mean
I wait for whatever I was when I was young. Maybe it was more than torn linen, urine-soaked sheets, black mold and toast with butter. Idle oranges, separate the pith from the zest, radiator dry. And as idly, the angry spot on my back, red and worn. I pulled my flesh apart with my own … More more than torn linen
anna-christina betekhtin 