Binder

I can’t escape the history of my body. In my body, I am all the people who have passed. 

Don’t ask me their names, I call them mother, grandmother and child. 

They tell me to accept the person, who I am now. 

I stare at my large breasts, I want them to go.

I stare at my tattooed flesh, and remember all the warnings given to me when I was young and supple. 

I have been violated, ashamed, forgotten, scapegoated, betrayed and they ask me to accept myself. 

I put on my binder and my chest is tight. 

My fist sized heart beats with life and half hearted lies. 

I know my flesh. Its soft skin burning all those who hold it too close, I am no exception.  

The dead speak, they live in me, how can the living accept this easily.