some time ago in my studio

there were nights  
I would wake up with water
pooled in my ducts. 

I would look to my side, 
gather the strength to roll over 
and crush the company that wasn’t there. 

I was beyond what we know as lonely. 

with terminally wounded feminity, 
singed in healing fire, 
I was not quite ready to be reborn. 

I often wash myself with these memories 
and absorb them into my skin.  

I often breathe into her and thank her for letting me begin. 

– sheila c

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