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Literature Text
I was reared toward codependence
on the jutting hip of a woman
who couldn't speak English,
on the thrush tongue of a man
who couldn't hold his liquor
and remarried to a gringa,
a sympathy puker. Ammonia
paled the hair in my nostrils,
kneeling on the third stair,
plucking the big chunks up
with a napkin. I gagged,
relapsed into the role
which wrote my schemes
of intellectualization: crushing
and cutting thin lines of diseases,
inhaling the belonging
inherent to helping a drunk
up to his bedroom. It wasn't until
I walked through the aisles
of a buzzing corporate womb,
reading the recipes for diet soda
and composite fences, that I
was birthed to an understanding
that empathy isn't weakness
if you can learn to distinguish
right from wrong, heroin from china,
selfishness from self-preservation.
on the jutting hip of a woman
who couldn't speak English,
on the thrush tongue of a man
who couldn't hold his liquor
and remarried to a gringa,
a sympathy puker. Ammonia
paled the hair in my nostrils,
kneeling on the third stair,
plucking the big chunks up
with a napkin. I gagged,
relapsed into the role
which wrote my schemes
of intellectualization: crushing
and cutting thin lines of diseases,
inhaling the belonging
inherent to helping a drunk
up to his bedroom. It wasn't until
I walked through the aisles
of a buzzing corporate womb,
reading the recipes for diet soda
and composite fences, that I
was birthed to an understanding
that empathy isn't weakness
if you can learn to distinguish
right from wrong, heroin from china,
selfishness from self-preservation.
Literature
Absolved
echo girl drops down so far,
(so dark) she swears it is heaven:
exodus, this final breath
strapped to the wings of fairies
and forced to fly away,
light like the gossamer sun
seeping in her skin and the
repetitive reshedding of her
meager lungs, exodus
the awakening and glorious release—
swan-dive into everything she ever wanted,
where the broken jaded looking glass
never shines right and the spiders
nest between her spine and he
still calls her beautiful and she
drops this faithlessness in exchange
for a quiet dawn.
Literature
napowrimo
april 1st
i just sat there
words lodged in my throat
eyes burning with tears that
i wasn't going to let escape
while you broke
into pieces i couldn't fix.
april 2nd
you gave me stained fingertips
the same colour as your belly.
i still dont know if its from
your poorly rolled mentol's
or if its the colour of
the deepest regret
i've ever felt.
april 3rd.
i tried to write this poetically.
with oceans and stars
and metaphors
so large i lose
connection.
but i can't
some things just
aren't poetic.
april 4th.
you're body was
black and blue
but oh god
there was colour.
there was colour.
and colour means life.
right?
even if its clinging on
Literature
in the blink of an eye
she was born on a day when
tectonic plates were crashing against each other
and i think that’s a good metaphor for her:
she was always the kind of person who fought
battles, even ones she couldn’t win.
she was a mess of moments she should have
taken seriously and too many times she tried
to laugh off the pain.
i learned how to care about other people
too much by watching her.
diagnosed as a grenade, she told me one day,
sure to blow up in someone’s face.
you’re going to be fine, i told her.
just let me leave, she said and
i couldn’t.
i wish i had, but i couldn’t,
not until she kicked and screamed her
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