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i didn't sleep again last night
i am in perimenopausal purgatory my rage keeps me up as i remember all that i have tried to forget nights sweats and regrets my heartbeat blooms curses at all those who have wronged me i think of those times where hope was a shrine and my placating was considered a feminine art form by those who didn't bother to see me my body protested this invisibility ovaries burdened with cysts my uterus harbored fibroids as i cried in nondescript bathrooms and homes where i wasn't at home my womb never stopped weeping at that miscarriage that was silenced because it was just another normal nothing it rained that day i hid in the clouds while the X was busy pretending that working out at the gym wasn't just some code for that other woman that wasn't me my identity just air that slipped out open windows i have learned that hate is an art form that calls to all all the wandering ghosts their unfinished business is mine my resolution is their ticket to elsewhere my daughter at risk of slipping out a window like i did going unnoticed into the ether the planets shift i watch stars fall at my feet at 3:00am the dead will surround me conjure my future that chance they didn't have hands still fists directed at the men they knew that had a part in ending them dead women and children eyes swallowed in darkness this what hope is to me now this remaining long after your story has ended thinking you can change time this nightly vigil just another communion with death follow those yellow lines in the road until you forget that every crossroad is just another vast desert
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AuthorMichelle Tinklepaugh Archives
June 2023
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