.

Are you angry, because

I can’t be your Oedipus son,

The one with shiny lungs,

breathing sweet songs in and out?

I can see your eyes shining,

Like a wicked cat’s-

A golden boy but

A bronze girl.

Are you angry because

I am nothing like you,

The one who forgives and forgets,

The one who mends and tends?

I am a dead egg, rotten-

In search of a grave,

where I can peacefully sleep.

You want me to be you;

Not like you, but you.

A mouth full of pearls.

A goddess in rag.

A womb that endures.

A round belly with jelly fish.

A river of milk, yellow and tasteless.

A velvet palace with lullaby.

A dancer with kettles.

An admirer of holy robes.

A gardener of white lilies.

A bird happy to be dissected.

A master’s fetcher.

A historian who won’t ask questions.

A silly cloud in the night sky.

But here I am.

A bashful red mouth.

A toad who can’t walk.

A traitor. A refusal.

Bitter, ungrateful and cold.

You will be glad to choose another,

a doll who kisses your toes-

I know.

And so will be me,

if I have a chance.

Bury me in the soil,

And let me be in peace.

Burn me, until I turn into ash,

Even the scarlet wounds you paint.

Count my teeth and then

crush them under your boots.

Bake me into a gingerbread and

Make the stray dogs eat me.

Will that keep you content

That you did all your duties?

Take back every word you said to me,

every deed you did on my behalf

and every curse masked as blessings.

Swallow me whole and

refuse to give birth to me,

for that will be the kindest thing

you will ever do for me.

Even then I won’t forgive you-

You, a snake charmer

with fortune cards on a dirty table cloth.

You, a hot needle on skin

who knows everything and anything.

You, a claw that refuses to

let me run away.

You, an alien planet where nights and days

are filthy as a pig’s pink skin.

Mother, mother,

You spoiled child,

snatching away my sunlight smiles

and buttercup dreams…

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