Thrift Store Special

teddy1

If I hung in a storefront

I’d have no label

It was torn off in the wash

The store owner lied

Trying to cover a great crime

I’m not gentle cycle, nor wash below 30c

I don’t fluff up well in dryer

Or need ironing on low heat

I’m a thrift store special

Good for a gander, then better cast off

Stuffed in the back of your closet

Forgotten until you move house

When you hold me to the light

Exclaiming; where did I buy this?

A little wistful, a little disgust

Just like a spare thread can run

Through any knit and mar its form

I was shrunk on hot and stretched in cold

Long before you grabbed me out of the lucky dip bin

It was the elongation of my experience

Like wool is malformed turning huge in water

Expanding and reducing, I am the sheared sheep who took off

When the shepherd came to my turn

I never backed down, nor avoided spitting in their eye

My fur smells of energy and emptiness and freedom and neglect

You wear me when you want attention

Or to be someone you’re not

And I’m sequins gathered in a pearls bosom

The knotted mohair and impossibly soft angora

But most of all, I’m the time you left your possessions behind

And rode in the dark without lights

Imagining your bicycle a horse and you …

with your dress catching in the spokes covered in oil

You just wanted him to catch fire on your edges

Sounding the cavorting need you had to bloom beneath

Then you were a water-lily and even years later

You are reminded each time a candle is lit, the smell of wax

How he burned your fingers with his inelegant desire

And you opened like origami to his bewitchment

Then you were a dragonfly, passing through fountain

If I hung in a storefront

I’d have no label

But you’d purchase me all the same

Over again

Smiling

At the memory of

Something you couldn’t quite grasp

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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 song of rape

It took one finger to break into her

one finger to make her feel violated and dirty

two to make her scream

the boys laughed afterward mockingly

why you so upset girl? we didn’t deflower you

you should thank us bitch

or maybe we should just do what we came here to do

they pinned her down, her tights stretched between her legs

like her fractured hymen

she saw the beginning of tears and inside felt

the raw and hurt center cry out

don’t come back don’t ever come back

they were only eleven years old

lying on the floor in the outside toilets

staring at the stars hardly there because of all the smog

her lungs filled with hurt

they were her friends

until they became rabid dogs

she didn’t know what switched the switch or why

they felt she was there to poke and prod

they were too small and she was too small and everything about it

was premature

which meant

waiting until it happened again

she wasn’t a victim but some things reoccur

as if on some awful cycle

sometimes she’d shudder thinking about

their little hard cocks

trying to pry their way in

the way it felt to be hurt like that

with unwashed fingers scrabbling and opening

the parts of her nobody should

she could visualize the cement beneath her

the smell of urinals and their unwashed genitals

if they had known enough to put them in her mouth

they would have

thankful for small mercies she knew

kids these days wouldn’t be so innocent

they see porn before they know how to spell

pornography

what ideas they must get and how

many bad things go on behind closed doors

or even ones held shut by little boys

seeking to immitate older brothers

she would have impaled them with

her rage if she wasn’t so ashamed

so she said absolutely nothing to anyone

least of all the teachers who would have

called her a slut who asked for it

even at eleven years old.

***

When she reached fourteen

the Golem returned

held her down, muffled her mouth

stuck it in like a needle threading through skin

her scream pierced every limb

and nobody heard

nobody wondered why

she wasn’t home for dinner

her plate was left in the fridge

she was emptied of the last piece

of her soul

left gasping where her privacy had been

legs spread and men hustling in

one after the other took their turn

after all wasn’t it a party? Make it count!

her face closed off and remote like she was dead

some of them were small and bony

their penises hardly large enough to feel

between the soreness and the swelling

others bore into her like a metalic truck

thrusting her back onto her thin tail bone

hands around her neck

fingers pinching her nipples and breasts

they filled her with a disgusting smell

she was never going to be whole again

or clean

and when it was over, it had just begun

face after face, cock after cock

a tape on repeat of her worst nightmare

they came, they came and they went

the only evidence there staining the bed

and her rubbery legs unable to flee

tied and sodomized like a string of beads

she flew out of her crumpled body

a bird of wing and feather only

she saw someone she almost recognized

torn and ribboned and splayed

a garish doll, a parody, a destroyed shape

someone she was no longer

as she lifted, higher and higher, beyond that point

no pain anymore just the thick blush of shame

hidden in plumage

she felt nothing but

a choking word on her tongue

WRONG

WRONG

WRONG

her child’s form

her hardly grown self

the silence of nothing

then it did not matter

what time she wasn’t coming home

all the world was quiet now

movement had stilled

the door was shut

nobody knocked

nobody unbuttoned their pants

and sank to their knees

lifting her up for one more final

free fuck

as if she were no more than a hole

not a human

not a worthy soul

immitation the greatest form of flattery

is not

she was cold now to the touch

her spirit somewhere in the stars

it took one finger to break into her

and a record set on repeat playing

over and over until it scratched

and could not play

anymore

the song of rape.

For all the survivors whose voices are quashed.

Carta

A letter

Is no letter

If it’s written at night as you lie

Staring at oscelating overhead fan

Hearing in its medicate purr the things you cannot alter

A letter

Unwritten

Is simply a wish

Searching for diety

Perhaps it will never find

A God willing

Or time will dissect

Impulse

Those words, carefully written out

To articulate the sounds

You hear chiming in your heart

Continue unheard

So instead, you join the mass of humanity

As they embark

Every morning with first train

A legion of

Unwritten emotion

On the tip of their

Blistered tongues

The blood of words

I am addicted

To the ever deep pool of your mind

Hearing boys say, to a younger version of myself

Don’t be too serious girl, lighten up

You look so pretty when you smile

I read, people gravitate towards humor

I move

In the direction of a bright mind

Illuminating darker recession

It is evident I will never, win popular award

I do however, seek eternally

Your inky thirsty thought

It has told me

To fuck off

Countless times

And hurt me

With the shards of a shattered cup

Pieces too finely crushed to piece back

But when I witness

Your pensive half smile and darkening eyes

When I read your words, smudged on page and hold my breath for wonderment

When I listen

To what you are not saying, in half turned observation, listing on margin

I ache

In a place I had left hallow

Hoping

Time would heal it over

And it may never

For your existence

Is a shape in my head

A girl with the blood of words

Urging me to remember

The wonder of thought

It is in horror, we see truth

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Before

is a color I cannot describe

a place I don’t fit into anymore.

 

Even if I am restored

things will be changed for good

for most of us there are times

that shape our marrow

could be in the form of torment

maybe sorrow, sometimes joy

often the hardest times leave deepest imprint

perhaps it shouldn’t be that way

we should rejoice our luck a little, usually too busy enjoying ourselves

to leave permanent mark or maybe, challenge speaks louder than mirth

it is easy to accept a good day like a hot bath

than deal with a bad and hollow foe

that’s when our quick is sharpened,the story of our lives written

on the tip-toe of endurance

and what if we do not want to endure?

too bad, shit happens, legs break, minds crack

we’re going to end up there at some point

better waterproof our leaking sides best we can

the ocean isn’t a forgiving mistress.

 

When I fell, my mouth filled with salt

even then I didn’t know how far torment, reached down

it was a well, beneath the sea

a second drowning

for those who long to be free above ground

shackles of the merciless kind

only then I wondered at the strength of others

enduring from such an early age whilst I

ran long in the garden, unawares, chasing butterflies without a care

thinking I knew real pain from a momentary hurt

I knew so little

just a moment ago and a life time apart.

 

I am a twin of my previous self

we stand on different sides of the same coin

I am submerged, she is still, basking in the glow of a harvest moon

sometimes I look over at her and feel such envy

anger for my lack of appreciation when I, was her

but you cannot lead a horse to water

you cannot teach a child what she must learn

getting stung on the principle, she discovers through pain

it wasn’t in my thoughts that I should be

the girl on the other side of the echo, pleading to return

I don’t know if I will be permitted

but should I ever, walk again without curse

it won’t be as the same person, but a mixture of two

once you’ve seen yourself and begged for mercy

everything alters and everything stays the same

it’s up to you to be mindful of what you learned in that maze of pain

I learned what we think of as hardship

is often just everyday life

what we believe is suffering

can be comfort compared to other lives

when we don’t think we can change

then we aren’t given a chance, we know we should have

it is in diminishment we find elucidation

it is in horror we see truth.

 

Let me back inside my life again

and I will not be the girl who, took the easy road

for she now knows, just how deep anguish can go

it is in the tangle of the briar

and the wormwood of old trees

whispering advice never heeded

by the youth who believe themselves free.

 

Before

is a color I cannot describe

a place I don’t fit into anymore

 

 

That buoyant world

1d763efcda321356fee424333900e93a--sunrise-and-sunset-golden-hourYou are afraid to shut the front door

it is an unblinking eye to the living

you are attached to a virus, like a fly

stuck firm in ointment, will

be claimed slow and sure

by its urge to escape, it shall

sink deeper and knowing this, you

refuse to close away the day, but

by standing against urging cold air

feeling labored breath of all those

who maintain and climb their days into years

by the touch of their effort, and the rise and fall

of that buoyant world

you shall rejoin the wheel as it arcs and spins

counting down our mortal pieces

such as we are, labored by knowing

how fragile the shimmer of life

yet, not yet, yet

we are still

afloat