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I Fear

I have bruises that
I stroke and pinch
to make them stay longer.
I press my thumb into them.
They remind me of how clumsily
I collide with things.
How flawed this body is.

When I was a child,
I would break my bones.
Not on purpose, but quite on accident,
much to the ongoing grief
of my parents and their insurance company.
Ankles are particularly delicate
pieces of human architecture.

I wanted to stay broken.
I would smash my casts –
those bulky white plaster jobs
of my childhood.
I would pound those bastards.
Pound my mistakes, my weaknesses.
They should’ve known better
than to dare try to fix me.
I wanted broken bones forever.

Right now on the back of my left hand
there is a raisin-coloured bruise.
Slightly off-center and withering,
already beginning its fade.
It’s been there for days, and
it’s leaving me.
My humbling.

Tomorrow I will fall
and colours will explode.
Tomorrow I won’t be alone.


"I Fear I Have Never Been
What I Think I Am"

26" x 12"
acrylic on wood
3 February, 2006

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