And the hearts I skin have only been
Those of whom I’ve ever really loved
Because when I was growing up
The princesses and the lions
All told me love was supposed to hurt.
But now that I know that nerves lie deep,
That hearts beat skinless, and can quietly bleed
Even now, the scrapers I cannot but wield.
They are upon my teeth, embedded
In the very words I speak, or more often unspeak
I hurl them unconsciously along with acts I commit
Or more often, omit; and they are upon the soles of my feet
Doing the skinning whenever I run or hide away
When with every dropp of blood I taste or tread on
The fear grows that perhaps I am designed to be alone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I find your poetry so intriguing.