Wednesday, 12 September 2012

I must not find the medical profession sexy...

Doctor put your hands on me.

Tell me all the things that make me abnormal.
Make me different. Whisper them.
Make my heart beat faster.

Say what will happen if I don’t let you touch me,
cut me
if I abandon this stumbling, shaking body,
find wheels
in search of my mind, of ideas.

Tell me how my legs
will bend
and bend
and bend
until I curl about you

Tell me how growing old will cripple me.
Tell me just what kind of cripple I will be.

I will tell you of my racing mind, filled with energy
that can propel this body up mountain.
I tell you just haven’t seen me move filled with desire and wanting

I will tell you the story of my body,
Its movements and emotions intertwine.
How I wear my feelings on the surface
of this skin, in every muscle.

You say to relax.
You say you look anxious
I say I am full
of feeling, full to the brim.
I move and watch emotions over-flow
running down my legs in big tremors.

I will teach you how to read my body,
to know its twists,
its bends, its shakes

I will turn your white-walled box of knowledge
upside down and inside out
I will tell you of things which cannot be found your textbooks
things which must be lived to be known

so don your white coat and come closer,
put those gloves on with a snap.

oh doctor put your hands on me.
and I’ll show you just how abnormal I can be

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