Segments by Tyler Turner

–          I peel myself clean; thumb splitting porous skin;

       Brittle nail breaking vein. 

–          I tug at the small white strings and imagine them

       Exposed nerves, grateful for my touch 

       Despite the pain.

–          I pull vulvic lips of flesh

       Like petals plucked in times of doubt 

       That only reveal themselves once the body has been split in         two.

–          I suckle on a segment and remember what it is to taste

       Any flavour other than metallic;

       To fill my mouth with something other than an idle tongue.

–          I drop a pip into the ditch at my eroded teeth, bury it there

       So that it might take root in my cushioned gums

–          And I recall my mum’s warning about swallowing seeds,

But figure that there are fates worse than becoming a tree.

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Tyler Turner is a writer and rat mom based in Sheffield, UK. Recently, she graduated from university with a BA in English and History and is to start studying for a MA in Creative Writing. In 2017, she was short-listed for the Wicked Young Writer Award. 

Published by Serotonin

Keep pushing that boulder up the mountain.