Wound—A poem

Sometimes I want to be the “wound” Ntozake spoke about

and sometimes I simply want freedom…

oh that wound…

so you never forget

you ache in forgotten places when the weather grows cold and heavy

…tickles like phantom

sometimes I want to be a limb cut off….

slow healing, seeping scar….

i want to be that ugly thing your new lovers trace with solemn finger tips, questing in the dark….

yet my descent has slowed by pity’s hand and time’s quiet call to blush, i cannot sustain my own decay

…to wound you

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