By Rebecca Peterson, Assistant Editor
my skull it seems is paper thin
too weak to keep the words all in
it splits in half, a mouth that gapes
and spills and spills until I ache
I take precautions day by day
to cut down on the shit I say
thread the needle, work by touch
I add a stitch; I’ve said too much
this paper head isn’t much use
the eyes miss all kinds of abuse
the nose can’t tell perfume from stench
the teeth grind down, the jaw stays clenched
you see this face in all its glory
paper torn and edges gory
and use the ears like they’re your crutch
I add a stitch; I’ve said too much
some days the mouth rips free of thread
and words spew through the paper shreds
I find relief for moments, then
the silence fills the space within
what I expect, I never know
the shame seems hardly worth it though
I stem the tide, I break the rush,
I add a stitch; I’ve said too much
you want to know what’s all behind
the plastic heart, the paper eyes
you pull the stitches one by one
I let you try, and then it’s done
there’s piles of words; you take just two
you leave the rest, say “these will do”
it’s not that I’m surprised as such
I add a stitch;
