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We live in a place that exists in theory.

We are living breathing ideas.

You will know us

only after we have stretched the seams of

the hearts you can't seem to mend. along t

The trashy magazines

that you avoid at the market,

but devour in the checkout line

– they were made for us. 

We are beautiful monsters

– no soul,

but a body that you’d kill for. 

And you do. 

You overflow your bodies with so much water

that you become a living, dying irony. 

You serve us up teenage daughters

who never age,

never form hips,

never bleed. 

You forbid your women motherhood

– their bodies and wombs so underdeveloped

that they cannot sustain new life. 

Your ability to survive baffles us.  

We pretend we do not want this,

but – in truth – we are drunk on it. 

We are drunk on your need for us.

Long for us. 

Because we long for you. 

Being us tastes just as sweet as you think it does

– and, sometimes, better. 

We will shadow your sense of self

until you outgrow us

and no longer need us to show you how to live.  

(Image: Graham John Bell)

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