staring down at my feet in the shower,
i am transfixed.
i think of november,
of the curves of my calves
and i wonder if that's why
i saw comfort in his arms
but nowhere is safe
i beg my eyes to stay open
and my legs to stay closed.
this wretched vessel.
i can scrub the outside raw
but the inside will never be clean
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem