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From the height of a swing set
A boy of 9 With dark hair and Ran out red cheeks Looks down without thinking Hollows his tongue Pools his DNA And fires his fermented sweetness On a so-called friend below He spits. On me. And though aimed at my head the wet inconsequential missal ultimately shattered my heart Years later when I am told by another that by Water sports he means he wants to pee on me i sprout forth blooms of wallflower so far down my spine that Mary Lennox herself could not find the key to unlock it Of course, not long after To the starting block of my own own Mark Spitzery I look down without thinking and Relieve myself Onto a naked ski mask Too afraid to reveal the face of a child who wanted to whisper the dreams of butterflies More than he wanted to see the color of his playmate’s blood You told him he was wrong And I told myself I was right to abuse him for it
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AWAKEN!
ARISE! SPEAK OUT! SING! But everyone is on their phones and they can't hear a thing Here, mother says
This is food. I learned to grow it from the bottom of father's bottle and cook it over a flame of boys who kissed too hard It's yours now. Eat it and become. Peace I Cry
and the soul hollows Tightness of breath sourcing a drama from which there are no words to be spoken No tears to be feigned How will this fadge, dear one without the God's recognition? If empathy is only reserved for the worst possible scenario? HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BEEN TRULY SHOT WITH ADRENALINE?
AND I DON’T MEAN DURING YOUR 3-MILE JOG, BRENDA. I MEAN EVERY CAPILLARY IN YOUR BODY POUNDING WITH RIGOR AND OXYGEN? YOUR PUPILS DILATING AND THE WORLD BURSTING INTO FLAMES BEFORE YOU AND AROUND YOU BUT YOU CAN’T BE BURNED? NOT BECAUSE YOU ARE INVINCIBLE BUT BECAUSE, IN THAT MOMENT, YOU REALIZE THAT YOU ARE ALSO ON FIRE? BEYOND THAT. YOU ARE IT’S VERY SOURCE. THEY TALK ABOUT “FIREWORKS” AS IF THE FEELING IS SOMEHOW ABOVE YOU LIKE IT’S FAR AWAY…A VISION TO BE SIMPLY ADMIRED WITH OOHS AND AHHHS. BUT IN BEING KISSED BY HIM MY WHOLE BODY ERUPTED EXPLODED INTO COLORED LIGHT. I WAS. WE WERE. LIGHT. IT TOOK EVERYTHING I HAD TO KEEP FROM SCREAMING. He held me like Midas holding gold.
Like I was all he ever needed and not nearly enough. beyond the river
a hillside is forgotten homes whisper their dreams I miss the world’s stage.
I miss the immediacy. When nothing else could possibly matter. I was so good at shutting out until they asked to let me in. Why would I champion the practice that hurt me? Pulled me from safety, stripped me naked- Did it? Or did I fight a mere bubble bath? Was I so scared of being naked in front of my peers, my industry, my world that I awakened a Bull who blamed the bumps and bruises on the layout of the store? A wordy yelp review for the Mom & Pop who only wanted one, mildly nice vacation along the shore. But, no. The system is stronger than that. The bath asked me to be the Bull No. The bath asked you to NOT be a bull- The bath asked nothing of you. But the bubbles would wash you away, revealing a slimy, over-fed rat incapable of anything substantial- Is that true? Or would the bath reveal an animal unknown? Kept from creation due to paralyzing fear of the long, confused pause before someone decided to speak, to name. Blue Socks and a Black Heart
Unlock the cell of yesterday and I leap headfirst into tomorrows never to be seen An apostrophe placed gently above the common fantasy makes it my own and Lights, go on Voyeur and Viewer who embrace in parts they wrote for and play for only the other Reality is water of continual thirst And I am nursing a toothache for sweetness only the mind can conjure A past-bedtime story Where kisses don’t hurt I am touched by the ground and the darkness grants me comfort Alone in a trolley up to heaven you kiss me like we are in danger |
AuthorQueer. he/him. Good witch. Archives
October 2022
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