Poem Inspired by Andrea Gibson
What would I write
if I did not feel a need to sensor myself?
that I have the deepest love
for my own body.
for my self
that spills out everywhere,
in spite of
and past the
shame
that has kept me
under wraps.
i am so tired
of the hiding—-
it takes
so much out of me.
and then what is left?
the skin, with its half truths.
my stuff has been spilled
all over the floor
with the shit
and the grape juice
and the garbage
from the storm.
the rigid inadequacies
swallowed whole
rotting in the belly:
the pretending to be smaller
quieter
prettier
sweeter
stupider
than i am.
where can i lie awake in this festival of hiding?
underground—
worming my way through the dirt
finding the bones of yesterday
announcing themselves
as living free.
down here
it smells like
the love of everything.