Neutral

I wasn’t born with skin on my body-
I was raw, flesh singing and muscles dancing,
with crystals for eyes and flowers for hands,
I grew, I bloomed, I blossomed and
my flesh learnt how to make peace
with the air singeing it from all sides,
but I then I was asked to choose
a skin to wear, and I couldn’t make sense
of this, because how was I supposed to
wrap myself up in assorted lies
when I spent all my life being nothing
but naked truth,
how could I suddenly cover
the sinews that only ever tasted fire?
I do not know what skin to choose
and I do not know which one fits,
but I know that I do not I need one
to define my identity,
I know, that baring my skin
to the earth is the only way it can
identify with itself,
and my flesh will need no labels,
no masquerade and no coat
when I do so.

Ghost

There’s a ghost living inside me,
and it is all smoke and dust
and sickeningly sweet incense-
it moves in and out of my bones,
eating parts of me in some places
and spitting them out in my gut-
it does not know that rumination
is not something my system
is immune to; the holes in my bones
look like immobile vortexes that
cannot take anything in despite
the empty space, and this ghost
refuses to leave, no matter how
much I beg- the most it does is
hold it’s wispy hand out of my mouth
and take it back in, clawing at my throat
so I cannot call for help, and
I have tried, I have tried calling for help,
but every time I do, my throat burns
and all that escapes my mouth,
is a black, cackling flame that
this ghost offers in mockery;
It has morphed me into a grave set on fire.