before hands there was nothing

this is my life

i think that i live it

but in in-between moments

i am a passersby

i am the smoke in the house’s lungs

the drone in the light fixture

i am small

i am sounds inside nothing

a cloak

a creak of metallic flesh, pledging trust in the earth i walk across

to do my job for me

one foot in front of the hand

clutching my uterus

believing my femininity will save me

cause me to come

for myself

but it is just me, i am just the lungs

i am just a soft glow in the middle of the night

waking myself up

i am not made of metal i am made of you

i am young and i love to play

i play on my shins, the curve of my foot arched into my bones, nestled completely

living completely

there is something so fitting

to fit inside my skin

but it is rarer and rarer

the less i am young

i am holding onto my shins

i am holding onto the earth that i trust

who has told me before

before hands there was nothing

we could listen to the beat of hearts and souls churn and taste skin and smell salt rimmed wreath, the rain

but we did not touch velvet

or wood

we did not say sorry

for the silver lining of being

for collision, bursting

breathing into each other’s skin

i did not burn

or break

in those days we were mirrors

and i was an earthquake

i learnt how to shatter

core to crust

like shedding a tear, a layer of skin onto the earth’s forehead:

an infant’s kiss goodnight

a friendly shake of the hand

did i do it right?

that we’d thrusted too harshly together

and i would not be there

to hear the sound of nothing

so loudly, so infinitely

as you can