under my therapist’s guidance,
I switch chairs to talk
to my inner predator,
learn more about it,
what to call her
where she started:
listen to the guilt,
but it was the shame
that was mocking me:
this pervasive groan
that stopped me from moaning openly
or owning anything, or only
owning the ways I failed
to amend my obdurate behavior
that started from the moment someone demanded
I stay on all fours in my daybed
while he comes in from behind me,
and has never ended.
so I keep ending up behind my dollhouse
cutting my hair, wearing my brother’s shirts,
ripping the hearts out of worms
and hiding them
in an effort to masculate myself
we were talking about a meat-eater,
my inner lion,
who once ate her own diaphragm
during a pretty short famine
I can’t be trusted to navigate things
or come back from them,
let it go.
I decided to have some boundaries with the universe;
lined the edges of my bed with geranium and
lilac threads. my tub dripped nightly:
an altar of salt and
watched my toes glide to the surface
by a dozen votives.
tease the cat
with little splashes at her nose.
my entire winter began to smell of spilled
rose hip oil and
the curtains shut tightly,
I could see the moon when I wanted
from my dining room table
or on a brisk walk
to pick up oranges and Earl Gray
for the morning.
rediscovered medicine in prayer and herb
and open mourning for my karmic retribution,
do you deserve the good?
amethyst in my sock drawer and jasper
near the lamp. I hold
one shout in my throat
in an effort to continue to
protect myself from myself.
protect myself from himself.
until I just give in,
watch the killer waft in and out
without a discussion about what
s t a r v a t i o n
I decided to get rid of my light and aventurine,
I calmly tell Genie.
I just let her feast.