If I cut off
my hands for you,
if I cut myself
to pieces for you,
if I pulled myself apart
bit by bit,
if I lost
all of myself,
then I would be perfect,
I imagine,
the perfect bride
for a man like you.
What a mighty good man
to have loved me
for the beauty I was,
but not the beauty
I have become.

This body
having birthed your children,
this body
having borne their milk-suckle mouths,
their fat-fisted grabhands
around my fingers,
around my braids.

If I pull myself
in a hundred thousand
different directions
and become
so you can have
everything you need of me,
perhaps I will one day
get to become
everything I need
of myself.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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2 Responses to Independence

  1. Trent Lewin says:

    Jones, you are an unbelievably gifted writer. Fuck me, I want to steal this and gut it, rip out its innards and put them together in my own voice. But I don’t think I could.

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