these bones (a poem)

these pains
made manifest 
in my being 
in these bones 
the result of the tear in my soul
ripped open, 
laid bare for all 
     to see,
     to mock,
     to sample,
     to taste,
     to take. 

the me I believed myself to be;
the one I was led to believe must be me;
now exposed.

these bones dried by overexposure to the unrelenting 
bleached by the hot dry winds 
     of self doubt;
cracking under their own weight;
     the should have beens,
     the could have beens,
     the wish I was,
     the wish I weren’t,
     the if onlys,
     the only ifs.
where am I?
where was I?
there is no memory. 

can these bones live?
only you know;
     or do I know;
          I hope someone knows;
someone has to know. 

the coming together,
the remembering, 
the essence of the one
I have been since beginning
     and will always be
born in me,
filling me,
bringing me 

these bones
  — bshivers 


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