My mother's song

There's this banging 

On the bars of my chest 

like xylophone bones, 

Just waiting to be played 

There is something waiting to 

Break         out 

I try to break    down 

Pieces of my rib-cage 

To create something useful out of your 

Uncomfortable silence. 

But my vocal cords 

Drip in desire for petty feelings

That bubble up out of my standing position 

Spreading through people 

Who don't want to hear the projection of my trauma song 

A special lyric for every feature 

I've stolen from your face. 

There is a banging 

on the bars of my chest 

and it sounds an awful lot 

like my mother.