writing hurts me
like a fetus pushing pelvic bones aside
head-first, swiveling toward gravity.
he bought her an ice cream
i bought myself a pencil
he bought her a ride on the ferris wheel
i bought myself a journal
he bought her an engagement ring
i bought myself a typewriter.
he watches her body for desire
i sense my body’s sounds and pictures
birth them into songs made of words
whence ideas flow to
grow into poems:
you are no less worthy
of awe or care than
a belly that carries
About the contributor: California native Eliza Swan lives in Houston, TX. Her poems have been published by Words and Art, Kaur Life, Natsoulas Gallery and Round Top Poetry Festival. She loves maps, pianos and kites. Fragments of her work are on Instagram.
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