skin is just another language

i am still learning to translate, a weird poem

my body is a landscape of interrupted memories
               fractured like broken morse code
                     signals sent between my little silence and screams
                          that i’ve never got to hear

archeological ruins where childhood whispers
      collect dust and unspoken promises
                    (remember when silence was a survival skill?)

each vertebra a forgotten country
      mapped with invisible borders
          where pain leaves its grimy traces

i am learning to inhabit myself
      room by room
      wound by wound
      reclaiming territories once occupied by ghosts
            and now only myself

trembling cartographers and my hands
          tracing lines of resilience
          drawing new boundaries between then and now

skin is just another language 
     i am still learning to translate
        don’t know if i ever will

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i'm afraid i don't have a clear understanding of what this is myself. i felt this way tonight. just a few vague ideas here and there, mixed together. mostly about fears, memories, intimacy, and i don’t know.

catch you later,

bibi 🪄🌟