June 10, 2015

Spoons

I'm supposedly alive but,
there's a haunting happening,
in my skeleton,
by ghosts
who whine like children,
like children who weren't
adequately fed,
and now they're frail,
so frail,
and according to them,
it's my fault

I'm supposedly alive but,
there's a slow death happening,
in my muscles and hair,
falling out, drying up,
withering like flowers,
like flowers given to someone
who's allergic,
and now they're dry,
so dry,
and according to them,
it's my fault

I'm supposedly healthy-looking but,
there's a sickness happening,
all over me and in me and around me,
a cloud that impedes my life,
stifling like smog,
like smog over a city,
and now it's a ghost town,
so empty,
and according to everyone,
it's my fault:

Maybe if you exercised more
you'd be okay!
Try juicing! Try acupuncture!
Try meditation and yoga!
Try eating this way! No, the other way!
Try not being such an attention whore!
Try sucking it up!
You're not the only one who has problems!
Think positive!!!!!

But I'm the one who has to
live in this body
and according to me,
this pain is real,
and it's constant,
and it hurts,
and I'm tired
I'm tired
I'm tired
I'm tired
I'm
just
wondering,

when will they finally stop
blaming me?

More importantly,
when will I stop blaming myself?







June 2, 2015

by the book

I was brought up by the Book
God’s word scarred into my calves
with leather belts and 
flat palms bearing rings
skirts above the knee forbidden
lest my pre-pubescent body tempt
God’s wise old men

my curves bound in words
I was told never to question,
though I tried,
wanting a reason why
God would want my body hidden 
when it was made in His image
or want my sex off-limits 
when He didn’t even ask Mary first

there are very few women in the Book
whose voices were heard
it’s just men talking to men
talking to God talking to men
even that donkey was granted his prayer
while the women spent so long being silenced
they have trouble recalling
the sound of their own voice

but I know their story well enough
to know it will become mine
if I’m not careful
so with voice barely a whisper and
knees shaking under long, modest skirt
I’ll find someone to answer my questions
and if God won’t answer
I’ll find someone else
I’ll find myself

May 21, 2015

rhetorical

i
I am a successful poet.
I can say whatever I want.
I am word-sounds laced together
in haphazard fashion.
No time taken to smooth out their edges
because who even
looks that closely?

I connect with nobody at all.
I make mouth-shapes, incoherent,
I ask questions
and answer them at you.
My words (not my words)
are followed by voids,
where there should be meanings,
but I’ll leave the actual work
up to you.


ii
This is what happens
when people love you unconditionally.
This is what happens when you’ve earned
all there is to earn.
This is what happens when you are validated
for everything
and criticized
for nothing.

There is no responsibility to take.

May 15, 2015

corrosive

i’ve learned to leak acid
from my throat
learned to corrode you
to watch you
melt down

i’ve learned to dissect you
layer by layer
with a tongue so sharp
it makes no sound

i’ve learned to take the skin
that leaves your frame
and wear it with pride
as my own

you’ve taught me that sometimes,
there’s no other way
sometimes
tact and honesty have no place
between snakes
locked together
fangs to neck
sometimes
that good love
won’t stay intact

you’ve taught me to leak acid
into your veins
and I’ve learned not to flinch
as you burn

May 6, 2015

canid

your gristle chin, velvet lips
on the nape of my neck
the pads of your fingertips
the whorls the arches the
hunt-worn calluses
traverse like growls
along my spine
you, starved of meat
far too long
tighten your hot knuckle grip 
at my hips
draw wet salt from my skin
you thrust and slip
thrust and slip

we pant
like dogs
in heat

i feel the canid song
the growl, the howl
clawing at my throat
begging me
to loosen the leash
the moon calls for me
like she always does
to come

it’s a damn shame
these walls
are so thin