History
is repeating itself, stuck
to the cracks in my wall and
festering because I don’t want to face the clean-up. Movement
is still difficult, the
sound of cracking bones makes me flinch even though I
can’t stop bending back my own fingers, the clicking unlocking a part of me I thought was long gone. Yoga
promising flexibility but
not how to stop feeling guilty for a milky cup of tea afterwards. My
body used to be a graveyard for excitement but now it’s the burial sight of self-hate and
failed dates, paint
plastering the boarded-up windows saying
she doesn’t live here anymore!
She’s moved on!
Tongue tripping on teeth and tongue because even though it’s over it’s
not completely gone.