Coping Mechanism.

Sun, 05/27/2018 - 16:40 -- creid19

a poem –


is a sickly, shuddering thing that sits heavily in the bottom of my gut;


festering in my womb.


it pulls at the back of my eyelids


murmuring incomprehensibly against the bones of my pelvis.


i stiffen with contractions and feel the teeth of the poem scrape


against the inside of my flesh;


(a bruised landscape)


its limbs have grown large and press into my ribs.


the discomfort is blackening my lips


and the poem shifts.


my body is a fireplace of burning embers


and i feel full of poems, anticipating birth.


they beat their little fists against my gorged belly 


desperate for escape.

This poem is about: 


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