I can peel my mouth open for you—
not like a kiss,
more like a confession.

Let me tip my chin to the light
so you can see what’s been living there—
all that bright metal
stitched into the tender.

There are lines still attached—
thin and nearly invisible—
running down my throat,
looped around something vital.

When I swallow
they tighten.

I could pry my lips apart for you,
let you peer into the red tide of it.
See the torn silk of flesh
where I tried to swallow what was meant to gut me.

Some hooks are rusted relics,
fused to bone.
Some still shine—
new enough to gleam when I pant.

I want to bare the metal.
I want you to witness
how I learned to swallow pain
and call it devotion.

So here—
I open wide.
Not to be reeled in again,
but to prove I know what’s lodged inside me.