No Seed, No Shell, Just Sun

There isn’t a way to tell my mother that the metaphor I use most for my body
is the split open shell of a sunflower seed
spat out by the man whose name we still don’t speak aloud in our house;
as if sound alone could give him power; as if silence hasn’t done the same.
I have spent too long being ashamed, or pretending I’m the same,
or mimicking a laugh lost in the past somewhere between
first and seventh grade.
You see, not enough people will tell you that it’s okay to feel broken
when you’ve been broken open; not enough people will understand
that sometimes you have to suck the poison out with your own mouth
– that sometimes you have to say it.
I was a split open shell of a sunflower seed
he spat out from between his teeth, but that’s not all I’ll ever be.
Here’s the thing about metaphors, and women,
and me:
We change.
We can always change.

Advertisements

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: