50 minute slots

prostitute

This therapy doesn’t work

I take an hour to get made up

so I do not look like the long toothed tiger

I feel inhabits my emotions and wishes

to roar and cry uncontrollably

while she sits thinking about

her recent vacation and what

she’ll have to eat for dinner

because after all this is just a job

she is just a human

who has a right to time off and a life outside

the pain she allots 50 minute slots

I am convinced

paying for therapy is a little like

paying for love

you get little of the real stuff

and a lot of compensation and emptiness

I feel alone in the room

hearing myself drone

I want to tell her everything

I want her to know how much I’m hurting

I want to express my fear and my loathing

but she is a stranger

who takes my insurance

maybe I should be thankful

but I’m bitter and repressed and tell her

what she wants to hear

after all, therapists want to believe you’re doing alright

even when you’re one step from the edge

after all, therapists need to sleep sound at night

just as I childishly wish she’d turn around and say

this isn’t a job, I care, I really care about YOU

let me in

and if she did I would, but that’s supposing

people aren’t who they are and they very much are

professional detatchment

closed-off, remote, shuffling from one hour to the next

waiting for the time they can walk out the door

not think about other people’s problems

there isn’t much empathy going around these days

we’re all so tired and I’m getting to the end

of wearing cracked masks

even when I need to break apart

which you can only do when someone

gives a shit

nobody pays for reality

and as much as it is known

‘therapy is a gift you give yourself’

and as much as it is claimed

‘if you do the work you’ll grow’

I don’t want to go through the motion

I want to be cared about

I want her to give a shit

I want things that are impossible

because she’s a job and I’m a client

but this way around it feels like

I’m the hooker and she’s the john

because I’m blowing hot air

and she’s sucking it up

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Warning

What if my mother

Who was gone

Did not warn me about you

And so

In the glib night

As I stood wanting to be plucked

From a latch key evening

The cluck and cacophony of

People filled with water

You circled my arm with a snare

With decision and madness there

Made a drink of me

Threw it down your chain-smoking throat

Carrying me on your back like a crab

We waded shorelines

Rinsing the regret for not being as others appear

Bone straight and glistening in their eagerness

We’d been born jaded and recognized

In the other that temporality

A godless place of zero and

Dirty much used sheets

Absorbing the stink of best intention

It was your howl in my womb and my opening ever trusting

Nothing can be as it says or is

There’s only this

The you of a rough hand holding me down

A choking, painful exorcism

In my nil

The bones just beneath skin

And you letting yourself in

After hours

A weight of assumption

More honest for its lack of anything

You do not attempt to please

Or deceive

For ours is not a caring place

Only savagery and hurt exist to sate

The otherwise empty arms of loving

Transplant

Your hands seemed always too small

To crush between them

Like indigo dust

The entirety of my heart

Turned to chalk

Yet so you did

A hundred times in preparation

Causing a dysrythmia of fits and starts

As a bullet will pierce and find its worst punctuation

I felt your hands

Reaching inside me and clasping my beating muscle with eagerness

Turn to calcified rock, that which adored you

Just as once you swam within my cove

A lone mermaid, protected by gentle shore and salinity of my devotion

It took too long to become aware

Of that ache and trespass

The stranger in your eyes hurling goodness out the door

An unmade resonance of your own heart

Beating further and further

Away from me like castaway beacon

For something precious, we hardly wish to give up upon

We make excuses for the continued lack

The savage dearticulate rending of gentle emotion

As this grave beseachment, that you stay with me here in this place we created

When you felt the same and held me tighter than hands borne in storm

Will cling to wreckage

I

Never let you go

I

Held on by stitching myself to you

Skin pulling against skin

Submerged and blind I feel for your shape

So dear to me and known over all the world

You who has shucked your hide and flown

As molting cicada will leave behind

Crusty exterior without whole

I was fooled by the echoes of love

And your words you gave, without conviction

I saw in your eyes the truth burning

Indifferent to me and my existence

I was no more to you than

A knot to be undone and placated

I do not know why

You could have brought the knife out and sunk it to the hilt and twisted until

That cry escaped me

as you longing to … will fight the urge to disclose

Your transplant

Why stay and pretend?

Your hands not touching me, hold by your side like wooden plough

Eying furtile crescent of low sheering moon

I am not an earth capable of disgorging life

My land is barren without your kindness

The sun turns me to whitened parchment

I write with scarlet fingers

Of your abandoned nourishment

The ebb and flow before all fluid is lost

No more the cascading ocean

Cresting high with furious need

To hold me once more, horses of foam arching overhead

I ran to the shoreline and saw your sail

Catching first gust and with all mighty exhale

Smile toward the sun, the relief of the free

Unchained from us, I hadn’t known or perhaps refused to own

How you sought your release

Shining like a newly forged key on the operating room of my transplant

No more beating heart

No more the sound of you, rushing in my blood

We amputate pain if we are strong

But I am no warrior

It is the mark of how deeply I felt

I wear my scar

A red ribbon down the middle of my chest

Where you reached, where you existed

Where you left

The possibility & the defeat

When we were nothing more than a line on a page

the author daydreaming of what it would feel like to meet

the other part of herself

the pencil half tracing an arc and then dropping off in thought

for she did not believe it possible, for she had stayed inside her box

such a long time it had become second-nature to assume

there was nothing more, and if perchance, it was only illusion

when we hadn’t grown flesh and hands and eyes and mouths

licking and touching and fitful for all of its circumference

and mad for it, with the supple sway of lovers

bending to each other’s lightest trace

when we were two people walking in opposite

unawares of the fall of love, or how it can plunge so deeply

the violence of a hearts commitment

then, you had a cocksure approach

keeping yourself remote, never getting close

and I was like a cake without frosting

not knowing how it would be to grab and eat a mouthful

for someone to climb inside and inhabit me

I was undamaged or at least less scored

by your whetted knife of emotion and longing

and you were safe in that way all who refuse to play

remain aloof and jaded against

what they have never allowed entry

it was perhaps the greatest pain to open ourselves

to the possibility and the defeat

for in feeling everything there is sometimes only

that high rising gloat toward the eclipse

then the rest of time spent recalling

as a drug fix, the chambered splendor of fantasy

you leave me void and furied with untamed

need to bring you to my mouth, my flowering chest

I’d sooner bury this confession than discover in another’s arms

the blank expression of indifference

when we lurch on sea-sick ship, sailing apart

the cruelty of love

or something approximate

is a shrill bird call over the top of trees

warning all those who dare discover

the taste of things unrecoverable

as these marks on my skin will

stay as symbols

of what we were and

endeavoured by that stark hour

to preserve for another season

when the flowers fall from the trees

and the birds, tired of cold nights

fly south in blue lines

First light

I was meant to find you here

In the feathered hour before waking

Where, gentle with sleep

You moulded yourself to dreamscape

Timid our hope to find, in straining dawn

Within the stream of our wandering mind

Elucidating like synchronized swimmers, carving ever decreasing circles

Each head sleek with water, diving deeper, ever tauter

From such depths we surface, forming mosaics on our skin

From seemingly unrelated moments, they wind, mirrored twine

Like treasure-seeking may leave us penniless

Laughing in the bask of adventure and

Oh the divers urge to search beneath surface

And never grow complacent or bored

For this day streaming on us, liquid silver, holds all promise

If we just examine, the way forward is forged

Out of darkness like a bright brand, quickening

Come to the frightened as they implore Titans

Leave us just a moment longer in the belief

Love can last a long wild run, barefoot and laughing

Into ocean and beyond ourselves as stones are thrown ever wider

Tracery, to the excited call of children and their hopes unfurling

Taking to warm sky, kaleidoscopic red and gold

Where you begin to wake, your eyes capture and hold

First light

Hunger

Today I couldn’t eat

and the malnourished body in the mirror said

it’s okay I’m better, fill yourself another way

opening my mouth

I drank the depths of

you

and you said

why are you always so thirsty?

 

 

if I walked from now until

you understood me

it would take us both

too long

and I would again

be hungry

Balance

She put on her outside skin

and when the door closed behind her

she took it off

gratefully and with a

long sigh

it was only with you

she showed her true self

in its imperfect and

wanting state of longing

it was only you

she let turn the key

release those parts of her

she kept confined

standing as red as

a roadside poppy

her legs crumbling for want

her hands needing to reach out

she needed you to

claim that offered fruit

realizing the chance she took

how it was not

a natural or easy decision

but one that came slowly and

years in the making

for even girls with redolent hearts

can hold themselves

corseted against passion

waiting out the corruption

for that one person

capable of reaching their center

you

were given that chance

she felt the licking carpet fibers

the sweat on her lower back

how her once empty belly, was now

full

her breasts, heavy with the need

to be drunk from

until she was light again and

emptied of her desire

burning her up

as she swayed in your hesitation

for you did not know

the gift of her she gave

or why

ordinary responses were anathema

in that moment paused

between heaven and

earth