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[andiloveyouinpieces]

The Bind of Being Young Dumb and Femme

If I’m a girl I’m small and weak, With real power up on a too-high shelf; Womanhood left out of reach.

My parents say to fight for what I seek, Tell me I ‘must stand up for myself’, But as a girl I’m small and weak.

I hate that I’m most pleasant when I’m meek: My girlish smile a darling shell, And womanhood kicked out of reach.

A proper lady ought not use vulgar speech, She mustn’t say oh fucking hell— But as a girl I’m so damn weak.

I’m immature if I can’t cook or clean— A true adult cares for herself— But womanhood feels out of reach.

And so I sit here in between, To dumb to be a woman, yet too big to still be twelve. As a girl I’m small and weak, But womanhood feels out of reach. 

[andiloveyouinpieces]

1 - Change of State

Three am, I wait for the water to boil

The kettle, Cool under my fingers, Then warm, Then blazing hot—

Little bubbles begin pricking Along the walls; Fizzing, Burning, Waiting to erupt—

And I’m impatient now, Sweating in the steam, Pressure building, Desperate for the waiting to boil over— To break, like a fever, and—

And then it does, The tiny pinpricks of heat Finally coalescing into a roar.

There in the dark kitchen, The kettle screams

[andiloveyouinpieces]

Happy April! I'm gonna be working my way thru the escapril prompts (as found here). As a heads up for y'all, I'm challenging myself to make these all dirty, slightly out of spite and slightly because I feel somewhat uncomfy talking about sex and desire and I wish I didn't. I'll tag everything as needed but hey, consider this your warning. Plus I'll still be posting occasionally lol

[andiloveyouinpieces]

Hollowness

Or: The Weight of Lamplight

It's 3 am and raining and I think I hate myself. I'm exhausted, Yet here I sit, Light still on and burning against The chill black of the March night, My hands going shaky with deferred dreams--

I should say something profound, Find poetry in the velvet stillness of A night that is Mine alone, of This selfish and shortsighted scrap of time.

But I'm too tired for poetry, Too tired to name more than animal needs, To name more than The grit in my eyes, my fingers as a lack of sleep, The twist of my stomach as hunger pangs, The warm pool of weight as simple, base arousal--

I'm too tired to tell you of The liminal beauty of the streetlamps or The grace of my lamp's fire burning against the night-- I'm too poor a poet to whisper A thing both beautiful and true, So all I write is this:

My bed is empty and so am I.

[andiloveyouinpieces]

Christmas Dinner

I’m tipsy off the bourbon my grandfather kept refilling— Though he refilled it with the scotch I don’t like, With the ice cubes I asked not to have— Til I gave in and poured my own.

But I’m tipsy all the same, Regardless of who pours drinks, So I’m disarmed when my father walks in, Utterly defenseless as he says the damning words:

I’m proud of you.

I’m tipsy off the bourbon, Clumsy and dumb as shit, So I blunder, Really? I spring the ambush, Even after everything?

What a stupid question.

He ripostes, You’ve grown. You rose to the occasion beautifully. And the killing blow: I’m proud of the woman you’ve become.

And I’m left in the drunken dark, Guard down, shield split, Echos spinning in my mind. He’s never known the blood I paid for that pride— And there’s salt on my cheeks now,  Grief for the girl we broke made silent by the thin walls— He’s never know the price of becoming.

[andiloveyouinpieces]

Bad Idea

I know so many words for Bad idea Conflict of interest Straight Dumb-as-shit And yet—

I’m in your office and you’re stressed, And I know damn well how We have the same character flaw, That you’ll never ask for help, So I say: I’ll do it.

I should have held my tongue. I know better.

I’m at your office door and then at a tea shop Because our professor flipped our lives sideways And you just needed to vent; We were all invited, sure, But I stayed.

I should have gone home. I know better.

I’m at your friend’s house Because you asked for my help: You said you wanted to plan a future And that I had the skills you needed— And of course I came over.

You told me to go to bed, and so I did. I know better.

And I love you in pieces, The rich brown of your curls, The warmth of your smile, The heat of you as you read over my shoulder— The way you’d move Heaven and Earth Just to help someone— Just to help Me.

I know better.

I know this goes nowhere— I’ll never tell you the truth and It’s a bad idea to try, But god, I wish I could.

So you’ll never know And I’ll know better.

[andiloveyouinpieces]

Weightlessness

Or: The Tightrope

A thin slice of steel wire, held thirty feet up, A roaring crowd and a sea of cheers And a dancer poised atop it all.

She leaps across the highwire, Shoulders back, a dancer’s grace. She throws a weightless kiss to the crowd, Sketches a mocking bow with a wink,

And then—because the wind brushes her, Or the crowd shouts too loud, Or she places her arms just slightly off center— Then time splits into a before and an after, Broken in the center, And the dancer falls like a stone.

She throws the audience a plea, an apology, Her fingers splayed wide as if to grab the wire, Her body not yet realizing she’s far too late And all that’s left is air that slips though her fingers Like trying to catch summer sun in a jar.

A flash of memory— A father whispering to a girl in a leotard, Soft and kind, It’s ain’t the fall that’ll getcha, kid, It’s the stop at the end. The dancer sees the kind lie now, Hung here above the crowd: The fall is an accident of physics, And shattering against the ground a miracle of mercy.

She hasn’t believed in hell for many years, but as she falls She remembers she deserves to burn.

[andiloveyouinpieces]

Relapse

Or: a Letter to You

With an arc gouged into clean skin  Blooming with rich carmine, Suddenly I see you. Sixteen, The broken pieces of me Scattered across the miles, the years, Echoed though the gauze of time and distance.

I see all of you, The guilt, the shame, the bitter hate. I see the long days, long nights, Long desperate prayer to long-dead belief, And the long sleeves, tugged down.

I wish you the best,  Though I know you can’t accept it. I was always too stubborn and too cruel for forgiveness

Still, with your eyes in the mirror, Your bruised arms in my lap, I say: if I can’t forgive myself for me, I will forgive myself for you.

[andiloveyouinpieces]

Snow in the Springtime

I stand above you, sword in hand, my blade Pressed up against your unbelieving chest. The priest tells you His will shall be obeyed! And orders me, her sword, to seal your death. 

A flash of cold steel, and hot iron—your blood Smells of carnations and bergamot tea. Then you’re no longer knelt in winter mud But smiling ‘cross a garden flush with spring.

I wish to love you in that April morn,  My fealty and piety be damned, So I make my choice and undo your end, Trade my crimson blade for your soft hands.

I break my faith, set time back to the start, For I am hence your light: you ever were my heart.

[andiloveyouinpieces]

Untitled, Unfinished, Undone

I can curse like a sailor— Tell you I feel like shit, Until you break down laughing Because my roommate had to ask What is a ‘twatwaffle’?

Or I can tell you the sky is azure, And today you’re incandescent— I can paint the world I see in All the shades of colors I can name— But what’s the word for this?

I speak two languages, Three if you really squint; I’m full of paragraphs of meaning Shoved into a single spray of German— I can see my mothers lips, The way they round on the umlaut As she says Gemütlichkeit

But I sit in the cold, Tears freezing to my skin, As I beg the sky for words— I beg because I do not have them. 我没有对词— Not in English Or messy Chinese Or broken, half remembered Deutch

And I’m begging for something Someone Anyone You To hear me— To pour my thoughts Out into a little dish For you to suck down And taste the things  I don’t know how to say

I’m sure there’s a reason that  Apologies come so easy No matter how I speak— That the ashes of my German Still whisper Es tut mir Lied— That 对不起 comes easier to my lips Than my age or name—

I’d tell you that reason If I only knew how.

I’m so fucking sorry.

[andiloveyouinpieces]

Dear Katelyn: a letter and cenotaph

I could never hold onto you forever; The girls we were at sixteen are long dead And thank God for that, Though heaven knows our faith died too.

And my memory is fallible, Soft, with your fingerprints all across it Like wax cola bottles Left in the August sun.

I know you were asleep next to me: You,  Head on my shoulder, Bathed in golden afternoon, The richness of summer sweet on your curls; The train,  Full with bodies and summer heat, The sunlight gilding commuters into fairytales And us into kings.

And yet,  I see you lit with the cool silver moon, With only the rail’s lullaby to hold you fast to sleep.

Katelyn, I’ve never so wanted to live forever.