You want the blood,
not just the skinβ
a poem that bleeds,
raw and open, like a wound
that won't close.
You want the truth,
sharp and unvarnished,
a mirror held up
to your own dark,
secret places.
I then will give you the bruises,
the way pain curves
around the bone.
You want the soft parts
exposed, a body laid bare
for you to feel human again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem