Thing

Thing

I am confused about being confused

Why does this body

(the shape of my home)

Feel like an island in the middle of the sea.

Why does my beauty disturb me

And “pretty” offend me

How do I become my own bed again

A place I can lie and sleep

My breasts: pillows

My hips: sheets

For me to cuddle in?

I am sick of being a confused ‘thing’

I am sick of being a ‘thing’.

With my name being a beautiful beacon of myself

But my sex a permanent red dye

Soaking into my cotton sheets and thick duvet

Like female blood.

I want to be a person instead of a thing

(Sometimes I just wish my brain could be a woman and match my body,

A jigsaw piece that fits perfectly,

Rather than a corner piece from a different puzzle)

I want to be a person without pronouns

And an oil painting instead of a watercolor changing everyday

I don’t want to be a thing

I wish I could be a person that I understood

what I really mean is that

I don’t want to be nothing

 

-Emma Catherine

wordpress- thelilaclysander.wordpress.com

Instagram- rain.on.rosy.cheeks

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s