Deconstruction
by Katy Sharp
I shed my skin,
leave it curled up around itself
at the altar, and wonder
why moving forward has to feel
so much like falling apart.
They used to say
come as you are
and I wanted to ask how anyone knew
but they’d all sewn their seams up tight
like solid rock, until you got close
enough to see the layers:
inherited foolishness
passed down
spread around
and left to petrify.
Breathe shallow, child
barely notice
but scratch the scab
and your wound will become your undoing.
Here’s a lesson:
vulnerability is simply
unravelling, phrased differently
and it’s not being yourself
it’s understanding
that you are
not.
About the Author
Katy Sharp spent a long time trying to work out who she is before realizing that the not-knowing makes for much better poetry. She writes about journeys in love, faith and womanhood mostly from behind an espresso machine in her current hometown of Cardiff, UK – but if you ever can’t find her there, she’s probably staring at a lake somewhere, thinking about whether she said anything really stupid in her author bio. She appears on Instagram as @ktyshrp.