Visitation

For most of my life I was a liar, yes,
because I had to be, but I,
for most of my life, was still
a liar, lied even
to myself. For a while, I hated me.
Back then I hated
the secret me, hated me
secretly,
only to now look back & hate the me
that lied to me, to others.
Which me counts
as memory? Which lie was the I? The eye
watching me.
When I was finally ready, I woke
in my bed. A giant hummingbird
floated above me, long lancelike beak
piercing my body. It drank
from the red nectar of my chest.
Its long, forked tongue—yes two,
yes one.
It did not take my hate, but placed
a seed.