:We take up the quiet space inside your lungs
:We grow in the quiet space of your throat 

Inside sat the heart, 
we dead are more aware of time of death   
                                        of cause of death

/   inside sat a restless growing thing   /
Inside of us is growing pains,

The way our bones stretch
and our muscles accommodate.

My body curves to fit quiet inside of me. 

And to dissolve it. 

My organs are unsettled things,
restless in the way they ache
and shake. I am more than what they make me
and if I sit still when
there is too much quiet then I am useless.  
My body counts for something
And if it breaks and curves and settles
into a shape that hurts to move 

No matter. I am ugly in all my rage 

Can I count you among the dead.
Can I grow flowers in place of eyes.  

CAIT POTTER is a queer artist and writer who creates things that otherwise get stuck in their brain and won’t come out until they’ve been moped up. Themes include; the messiness of mental illness and the workings of trauma, softness and change, and ramblings on learning to exist.