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my solitary existence
has been tainted with red,
when then i was mine
now i am a belonging, a longing
funny how love is equated with the colour,
as if all creations can be moulded,
poured into the little measuring cup,
counting the mountains and the sea

my arrival was mere yet quick-
spinning like a spontaneous whirlwind,
spun by a ball of green yarn
i like to be watched from afar
and when these lines construct a web,
announcing the arrival of this mortal,
it will be a self invitation;
an entanglement i have brought myself into

twice i have been hurt
once by a woman whose womb i came from-
no Caesarean, no pushing
i was bled out like a bad discharge

another by a man, it counts like a scar
we were mimosa pudica and cotton
until i was bitten on the knee
and the blood stains like fire

what i have now is a cultured panacea,
my temporary bandage, my plaster of Paris
my big exit, the grand escape as though planned
is the biggest mystery a witch can ever break
at this stage i just pretend i am blind
my belief is the guiding stick-
tapping on cement, poking other legs,
desperately holding on to it like a wand

my guilty hands, these fingers that kill
hold among other things, a man's heart
as alive and pulsating as a thrust,
to replace among other things, my own

estherg



love and other things