Breadcrumb #664

NATACHI MEZ

Please, be careful when you hear me speak.
I mix up my I’s with We’s and They’s and You’s,
so when I say I cried myself into existence,
note the alternatives. Know that my tears are equally 
not my own. When I say I cried myself into existence,
I mean the waters of this body have been cycling for centuries,
breaking and bathing and becoming breath.
23 years old and I am still newborn.
I mix up my yesterdays with today.
Still can’t tell my kin from my enemies.
Still can’t tell my skin from Glory. 
Still can’t swallow that people mix up Black
with Death instead of Gold instead of Good instead of 
God I mix up your pupils with mirrors.
Can’t tell if it’s safe to see self in you.
How do you see yourself, there are those 
who drown in their own image, instead, 
shall we go for a swim?
We as in I and You, and You,
can you tell I am a woman? It is said
that women are more likely to attribute their successes
to others more often than men,
so if I say I did this on my own,
know that I am not even my own.
I am a conglomerate of dependencies,
fluid and changed and changing.
I’ve heard of people who have pulled themselves up 
from their own bootstraps, 
and they forget to thank the bootstraps, and now 
I am crying again, reborn, and 
praising those who made the bootstraps,
I don’t know what we would do without them, 
without you, without me,
we conglomerates of dependencies,
fluid and changed and changing.
We’ve been cycling for centuries, 
breaking, birthing, born.

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