Category: bulimia

BIRDLIKE

written october 2016
granada, spain

he makes me thirsty, desperate for growth. all I want is to be there beside him.

but he told me once he loves tiny women, small like birds, with delicate bones and fingers — the things I find beautiful, the things I will never be. I was born into a trap: a cage of flesh built a bad way, crooked and thick, short, wide, soft. a human sausage, a turkey leg, a flank steak with extra flanks. mm, meaty. this one bleeds. built backwards, everything fragile went inside. the big tough parts moved out. protect and serve. a body to beat back a life that attacks head-on, would take me in cold blood if it could. I am war-torn, scarred, uneven. I am no little bird, though I see them and I love their feathers and their feet and their songs, and I envy so their ability to fly.

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TUESDAY

itches i can’t name
all over this broken
thing all tattered up
and covered in holes
the itch means healing
but i can’t tell the new scars
from the old ones
anymore,
every day i stain something
else with my blood,
the pale gaunt face full
of larvae like a nervous addict,
which i am, and was, and will be,
til sliver by sliver with dirty nails
i tear apart the rest of me and
pick to pieces the remains still
searching for something
anything
of value

UNHINGED 

spit them out, these wasted days and wet-green nights rising up from your esophagus to greet against anyone’s will your
lovers and your sisters and your friends and your parents make them
worry for you but never too much just enough to catch a whiff of the smoldering
human brains on stone tiled floors where
the
cold gets in so easy feel it creeping up the carnage contaminated by the time
it grabs your feet and legs to drag you under
i’m okay, i’m okay — you’re shoveling shouting reaching out to grab hold of whatever’s in reach
creamy rose pink with green sparkles dribbles thick makes you feel
safe watching feel the grip slip this is how we
fight our wars with pink with glitter with ooze like
crying all that bile from your eyes the sticky
worms running playground drills up and down your throat
red rover, red rover, why don’t you come over?
red used to scare you always creeping in or up
more often out
that drip drip down your shaking knees that
seeping out the gashes in your stomach like a watermelon past its prime now just remember– don’t eat the seeds, you can’t afford for anything to grow inside you, and neither can the anything– that environment is uninhabitable
for living things