#soultayiwrites

[soultayi]

the violin is pulled taut the sound shakes my teeth and you find me cowering besides the bed. the softest of touches on my jagged cracked skin breaks me. i fall apart, i come undone, i unravel at your touch and you stare at me as bones become indistinguishable from flesh, you look at the bloody mess i have turned into— what the lightest of touches has done to me. . .and in the glow of the setting sun, you begin to eat.

(it’s monday evening after my first shift at a new job and im thinking about how i will hide my eczema while listening to a violin mix on spotify. violins always makes me think of vampires which always makes me want to write poetry.)

[soultayi]

the words in my throat have dried up and when i try to swallow i taste poetry that has turned sour. like ash. but now. i sit beside a railing on the edge of the thames. a man plays a harp his fingers are so gentle the strings look like silk and the sun is setting. i can hear the waves and i think maybe the words haven’t dried up- perhaps i have had nothing of truth to say. or maybe nothing of substance of permanence. and the water continues the gentle caressing of pebbles. all of this is truth. substance. permanence. the tightness in my throat is just… tightness. it will ease. and eventually, it will go away.

[soultayi]

i open my mouth to speak and fumes come out. what i want to say is / what i mean to say / i just wanted to / but / you are staring at me with a kindness that settles in the bottom of my stomach. heat blooms. i am still looking at you as you turn away from me and words make a shape in my mouth. but you have turned, smiling to the sun. skin glistening.

[soultayi]

i will show you rage like my mother taught me. i will show you what it means to be angry. let the violence of my words sharpen knives. run your pale fingers through bloody black hair and in the throb of your wounds i will show you how rage strikes. in the darkness you will hear me. in the shadows of your room you will feel me. you want to be angry? you want to raise your voice? let the baritone’s of mine who came before me reverberate off the walls and back to you. you want rage sweet sister? i will show you how the mouse squeaks and the elephant jumps- how even the smallest of creatures packs a punch. i will guide you through it. let all you have enacted behind closed doors find you. let guilt consume you. let anger settle in your chest and squeeze.

who raised me?

just wait and see.

[soultayi]

i want to disappear but not without a trace. flowers, breadcrumbs, a trail- anything that tells you i was here and though i have vanished i still existed. i don’t know what is stronger my fear of being forgotten or my will to leave. i am my fathers daughter, i’m a deserter. a leaver. mother i’m afraid i am exactly like him and its his face you see when your angry at me.