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There is nothing of me to touch
but stretch marks and bite marks
and the shapes left by accidents
with ovens and knives.
There is nothing inside me to awaken.
I haven’t slept for what feels
like a hundred years.
There is nothing of my time
that still knows the old things
that bring me joy,
least of all desire.
There is nothing left
of the way I used to understand
life, and what it takes to be alive.
There is no understanding.
There is no space here
for a step back
for a question
for a deep breath
that isn’t a pause between
two things I have to do
if I don’t want the world to fall apart
while I am on the clock.
There is no silence to spare,
only the noises of clutter
and burdens of need
and the rage of all the tears
that I have no right to weep.
There is no peace.
He is unhappy because I am not
the same woman.
I am unhappy because
he is unhappy
even after all that I have done.

“Ballet Inspired Wedding Ideas from Amy Osaba”
by photographer M. K. Sadler


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