i once broke into the heart of a whale to see if it could fit
more than mine. i broke my birth mother’s pelvis as i was coming
out with the force of my silence. but i curled in on myself with
crumpled audacity and watched as people turned to scab and fell
off. i picked at them so they would scar to better remember them,
they looked like a row of puckered lips on my arms. when i fell
into his mouth there were no puckers, not that kind of smacking.
i never felt more alive than when i wanted to die, never had
that kind of longing for mechanical motion and tempered teeth.
some people you never see again. there are things just as
permanent as death that are just as effective. i always moved
with the intent of leaving, every hello being a guarantee of
a goodbye, that kind of certainty in duality. the very fact
that you were always there being a promise that you would one
day leave. you broke my breastbone where my heart burst with
the force of its silence. scar tissue sealing my mouth shut.