I can’t stop the pain I am feeling inside
That goes from my throat
Down to my chest, ending at my waist.
It hurts! – And it is all my fault.
I promised I won’t feel this way again,
But here I am- again, blindfold!

An invisible knife in my right hand
Thrusting through my tender flesh,
Hitting my chest with all my force to stop the pain:
One time, three times, four times,
One hundred, five hundred, a thousand times;
Maybe more…

As the knife goes through my chest
Touching my spinal cord
I see the essence of my being;
My organs spill out:
My lungs, my heart, my guts, my liver…
I see the Me, disassemble; Disembowel!

Superficiality, that was my way;
Never feel too deeply, never get to close, never sway.
I touched people as I moved–
Superficially, I touched their arms, their hands,
Their thoughts, and their legs. – One, two, three…
Superficially, I loved them, for three years straight.

Then, there you were!
Superficially, I touched the tip of your fingers;
Superficially, I touched your hands.
Curious what you may contain
I forgot who I was! – I went where I shouldn’t-
Curiously, I lost my path, I went inside, I swayed.

It was huge, the place where I was sent.
Where was the start!? -Where was the end!?
It felt small, my presence there- it felt tiny,
A whole Universe inside her head;
A whole Universe inside her chest;
A whole Universe inside her body.

It almost brings me to tears. – This feeling of
Weakness, powerlessness, helplessness, this feeling
Of not being needed, this feeling of incompetence.
I, the one who knows everything, reduced to this?
Reduced into a being of not-knowing;
Into this being of wanting; Into this being of not being.

It hurts, just as it did a long time ago, maybe even more;
Just as it did then- when for the first time
I subdued the pain in my chest, by picking up the pen.
Poet- I was made at that time, now I am afraid
What I may become, if it goes on-
Like this, if my pain’s moan will keep shrieking on.

I think of you again…

…and again, here it comes, that suffocating pain:
Lost in space! Without gear; Without a mask;
Weightless – without weight.
Here, at this moment, the knife comes back into my right hand.
Again! – I strike my chest with all my force…
Everything I am, comes out– except for pain.


5 thoughts on “Frail

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