I want to age like this leather jacket. I too have been gutted, they scraped my organs away; I lost my own bones. So I stitched myself together around others, I’ve been re-purposed. I’ve turned my loss into ways to make others warm. I hope people wear me like this.
I’ve learnt how to be soft in my toughness, and strong in my passivity. I am armour of the earth. I know they won’t have posed my skeleton in the natural history museum, and they might have dried my tongue for the dogs to chew on, but people would learn more of history from me. The way I still smell of myself, mud and flesh, fields of green childhood holding dew like droplets of a burst sun. The way all those shoulder blades have shaped me. Second-hand. You can imagine, a widow sobbing into my chest, their lost fossilised into me, maybe a young girl cocooned herself inside me, maybe I dulled punches, maybe I was draped over a lovers shoulders. You will never know my ancestry, but love me like you do, wear me like you too won’t become a ghostly shape of empty under me.


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