Remembering The Laugh of Medusa by Helene Cixous
My hands are soft, and I run them along
Spines of books, of friends, oil under palms,
Blankets or buttered food, rose water,
Spilt rum, interlocked fingers, lip balms.
Ink to write, paper to roll, pocketknives,
Handles steering and keys and hair, scars.
Skin that shied away, dared to stay,
Pale wrinkled and death cold, or dark.
I have no space in my life for you
The way you want it, with organs and time.
I have no space for your dick in my mouth.
Swallowed rage and with it throat pregnant mine,
Crushed in the womb with tongue bit, jaws ground
Even after, death and blood in my sighs.
My teeth are gravestones upside down
Yet not savage enough, but neither white.
You have no space for me, and never will.
And I knew that when my bones still grew.
But it's a story we hate, love to wish,
I know one day I will be softer too
I'll be a woman, space be damned
And my hands will be numb as I touch you
I'll be a woman, damned through and through
And hate myself to be loved by you.
There is no space left in me to be
Let alone be a woman, even, me.
