I gave birth to body white Collected to my thighs Held her there, between my legs And brought my knees up high And she slid out, I don't know how She slid out, I don't know how And you left your me, all in the leaves Gathering sweat from the graves And you body sister, I brought you a cistern From what holes I cannot pray But I'll go and be brave I'll go and be brave I only have faith in what is good And what is good I knew a boy who built an aviary He gathered all the wood that he could carry I pulled from his chest again Blind from the bees And we exchanged helium Because we're tired of ceilings I found him blocked out, like a jarhead His antlers fall seaweed from an ocean bed And he carried carvings of his own geography But had he stabbed his own eyes out so he couldn't see I said, 'I don't wanna be your wife.' I couldn't stand to do this my whole life My breast milk is heavy And you don't have the strength to help me with this baby And where do we pull out of each other I ask you if you can tug me off You ask me if I can push you out You ask me if I can push you out Like one wood fire, and drag this sh** from each other All the fluids, from your mother I can barely stand, in your late disease again With your vomit up to my waist And in the hospital they asked me If I know where your parts go But I tell them your body isn't made from skin they know