how do i tell you that i’m
a sexual jig saw puzzle?
that maybe someday
once i put all my pieces together you’ll see me as i really am
whole
and clear
and beautiful
instead of as an awkward pile of indistinguishable fragments.

when do i tell you that
when i’m standing there
in my pretty panties like
a gift waiting to be unwrapped
that you can’t unwrap me?
if you pull at my ribbons
i’ll fall apart and you won’t recognize me.

i am an elegant vase
created by god, with the soul
purpose of holding your love
this i know
but i was smashed to pieces before you met me.

what can i say as i watch disappointment
wash over your face when
i tell you how sick men have
burdened my soul?

how can i explain
the magic mixed with horror
i feel in my whole body
when you touch me?
the paradox of
sensuality after rape.

how can i make you understand that
its not your fault
when you try to pour
warm honey on me
and i shut myself away
deep inside, in a place where
you could never find me?

how can i apologize for the mess
when i know it’s not necessary?
‘i’m sorry’
is the bitter taste on my tongue
that causes me to pull
away from you and hide,
hoping that you may never
have to taste of it
yourself.

when i’m full
of magic, magma,
about to overflow,
this phenomena occurs…
i ice over.
in a matter of seconds
the warm clay of my body
in your hands
freezes,
burns you,
you drop me,
confused.

how can i stop heaven from
freezing over?

i am eden
surrounded by barbed wire.

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