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All The Women In Me Are Tired

All The Women In Me Are Tired

Le Dormeur

after Nayyirah Waheed

We are quiet now
tired
clipped tones thrown
from the dark place
in our throats
holding space for
everyone else
above our breasts
our chests beneath
water
shoulder blades
carrying the weight
we hang
silently on hooks
at the door
chipping away
never ending lists
on the walls
we cling
curled on the floor in the
way we were and are
always will be
behind closed doors
tired
the whore
the mother
the healer
the seeker
the leader
and the child
we fall in the arms of each other
we look in the eyes of each other
for sleep