My Mouth Is A Stage

Content Note: This piece contains themes of trauma, abuse, and survival. Please read gently.

I love to lie.

little lies that no one knows

I can’t tell

anyone

what goes on at home

I plant daisies and watch them close

I keep my truth

closed

I don't want anyone to know

I like to lie

I don't know

what's wrong

with my mind

I can’t tell you

about what happened

when i was five

maybe that’s a lie

I was four

behind closed doors

my clothes

dropped to the floor

I hate

the feeling of

lust

i hate feeling

like

i am too much

I hate to be kissed when

our

lips touch

my mind breaks

i can’t escape

the feeling

of something

i hate

but can’t name

I remember I remember I remember

I love to lie

sometimes

i pretend

i can drive

one time he hit me

he told me it's because he missed me

that's a lie

he choked me

pushed me against the wall and called me ugly

I like to lie

I tell people

I love apple pie

when it actually

it's the crumble

Fuck you

you don't own my life

The Berries

lying has kept me safe.

Lying has kept me safe.

Maybe it's kept me on the outskirts, but it's kept me safe from the truth.

The truth even hides from me.

Is it bad to omit those things, that are too heavy?

I feel when I share those things, the deeper things, the cracks in my foundation.

It's not held with care.

It's held with judgement.

It’s pity.

It is the look in you're eyes, you think i am broken?

My First lie, when i was five

I remember at school, I ate a handful of berries

Because I didn’t wanna be on earth anymore

The teachers would always tell us

don’t eat those berries, you could die

And I just wanted to

I wanted to leave

I was in so much pain

I just couldn’t find the words to say

Things were being stolen

from me

my innocence

I just wanted to leave

So I took a handful of berries

I ate them and lay on the playground floor

waiting for death's call

And I waited, for the end.

The end of playtime came

the teacher came over

she said to me

what have you done imani?

I open my hands rather dramatically to reveal the berries, the teacher then sighed and called home.

My grandmother came to pick me up.

She asked me why did i eat the berries.

I lied

I said

i was hungry.

I didn’t get the end, but I learned what pretending can do.

For Death

you asked me what I wanted out of life 

I said, I want death to come 

I chased her 

for a long time 

my body 

did not feel like mine 

i was living on borrowed time

holding on by a thread 

always holding my breath

all i could do

was chase death 

i called her name 

she whispered to me

that she 

had made a 

promise 

that she will keep

death 

is 

coming 

for me 

she said

stop the chase 

embrace the life 

while you still

have the time

death is coming 

i spent so long 

chasing 

never creating 

i never took root 

i longed 

for her 

to come and release 

i hoped 

one day soon 

we would meet 

I stopped chasing death and waited for her 

to come to me 

I built a home

a home

for me

to just be 

laid the foundation 

pouring out

ancestral libation

i dance with friends 

i rarely think of the end 

we laugh all night 

my body feels light 

death is coming 

i welcome her 

into my home 

into my arms 

when she arrives 

I know

she will be just on time 

I don’t want to push our meet 

i am waiting for you death 

on the day we meet, I think it will be sweet 

she will hold me in her arms

as my heart slows

and i will know 

i waited for death

because 

death is coming

Performance of Truth

I became a performance,

performing for love

performing for breath

performing.

me and the performance of self

are so intertwined.

I don’t want to give you the truth.

I want to give you script lines

I want to give you a metaphor

a poem to untangle.

lying is protection

It’s fucked up, but I don’t do it to manipulate

i do it

to escape

But I don’t really think that’s much help

I lie because I know the truth is too heavy for you

Or maybe that’s what I tell myself

So I keep the barrier

So I keep my walls up

I craft and curate

Something that you can handle

Something that’s artistic

Maybe there’s more truth in my art

than there is in me as a person

but isn’t my Art apart of me?

why do I have to tell the truth when I’ve learnt that lying is much safer for me?

Nothing About me has to be true 

I just have to make sure 

it’s entertaining to you 

i shape my tragedies

into poetic fantasies 

i invite you 

come see my reality 

on this stage 

my words leap of the page

sharing the concentrate

the refined

the pieces of me

i want to be left behind 

i give you

my smile 

some of my jokes

the pieces of me 

that are

full of hope

a truth

a lie 

does it matter

i wrote all these lines

Nothing has to be true

as long as its 

entertaining you 

Is this safe?

There’s only one person who’s held my truth. Maybe there's more but this is the person who springs to mind, right now as I write these lines.

we were on the phone, and my stuff slipped out, but it didn’t feel dark and it didn’t feel heavy.

it just felt

like it was

Like it was just there, those scars that we have

Sharing them like scrapes on the knee

Like scabs

I didn’t feel too much

I didn’t feel like I had poured my soul out

I just felt

I just was

We both shared a similar story

Of a violation

I didn’t feel like a victim

I didn’t feel like a heroine

I just felt like

myself for the first time

I don’t think it’s bad that people can’t hold it

I don’t think it’s a bad thing that people look at me with sadness

in their eyes when I tell them.

But please don't look at me like that.

Don’t cry for me

Don’t tell me, sorry

And I know how hard it is to watch me as I unravel

but please

don’t look at me

like I am broken

when i am just being open

Witness Me, Dont FIX me

i don’t need it to be fixed 

i just need you to witness

tell me i exist 

feel my presence 

sit with me 

in my pain

don’t fix it 

don’t touch it

i just need you to sit 

don’t try fix 

don’t try to understand 

don’t take up

space on my land 

trying to come to conclusions

you will end up becoming

disillusioned 

i don’t want solutions 

i know that 

may sound like confusion 

i am bleeding out 

i scream and shout 

you try to fix 

but to me that feels like a diss

don’t fix 

just witness

This piece is a performance, a truth, a lie

Held in poetry and prose.

Thank you for witnessing.

– Imani Ahiro