If I Can't Have Their Worship, I Want Their Pity

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Yasmin de Laine

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It's time the young plants are hardened
Carefully lest we bruise the stems
Damage the delicate roots

The exposure is too gradual
My agony perennial

Mother taught me mercy in the cutting of soft things
I sing quietus at the altar of beauty
If I can't have their worship, then I want their pity
The shame of being born to someone they'll bury

Daughter craves my comfort more than my violence
She was not born with my lilting fingers
I know that she's a monument to the bodies inside me
That awful place where the emptiness lingers

Mother taught me mercy in the cutting of soft things
I sing quietus at the altar of beauty
If I can't have their worship, then I want their pity
The shame of being born to someone they'll bury

I bury daughter in the backyard with the animal bones
I love them so much it tears me apart
What else but to consume all that you could have been

Each heart devours the other heart
Each heart devours the other heart
Each heart devours the other heart
Each heart devours the other heart
Each heart devours the other heart
Each heart devours the other heart
Each heart devours the other heart
Each heart devours the other

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