docile dismality

the quiet oppressively
coats everything
except the dishwater
an ocean echoing
from the kitchen
with soothing waves
i fall into the rhythm
reminded of
the womb
when the vacant
was no promise
of sundered wounds
but carried hope
before the understanding
that just because
it is the first sound
i heard
doesn’t necessarily
make it safe

i long to have
drowned in those
amniotic waves
before being cast out
into a world
that never wanted
never tried to accept
couldn’t be
bothered to try
and understand
the world is mystery
life is beauty
but i am a
mass of tumors
a robin’s nest of scars
with a list of dreams
carefully shredded
stuffed deeply
in the crevices
where the soft parts
once lay in docile dismality

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