Have I not mourned you enough?
I had everything and I gave it all to you.
I once had wrists and thighs and shiny eyes;
they are cold and hard and marred by scars,
but in a way,
I still do.
Have I not suffered enough?
I was a girl, but I carved myself into a woman.
Strange, how the ticking time-bomb of a heartbeat
could burn with the white-heat hate-speech
of something that is but shouldn't be