When I think of you
my mouth opens wide
& what comes out is
spit-curses like
hungry wolves growling.
What comes out is
ruined apples, moldy fungus,
dead animals decomposing.
What comes out is
insects buzzing, cutting your skin,
heartily lapping your blood.
What comes out is
me swallowing you like nothing,
drowning you in Poseidon's waves.
But, mouth wide open
all comes out is
shh, shut your trap, tramp.
All comes out is
my bitten tongue,
swallowed & digested.
All comes out is
saltwater from my tear ducts,
blood taste on my lips.
All comes out is:
silence /
silencio /
silento /
silans /
silenci /
silenzio /
silentium—
Sometimes I wonder if you ever stalk me out,
look at my recent photos, maybe in awe.
And I wonder what you (or I?) think:
Am I still young and beautiful?
Do I look like I'm a cool girl—not the murder kind—
and successful too (much more than you)?
Is my hair long and natural enough?
Am I still svelte like a swan?
Am I a mystery you'd still want to know
but don't need to know really?
(Yes, there's a difference.)
Am I as innocent as together as complete again
as I was before the breaking?
In other words, do I hide my bruises well?
When things break apart and you take a part of me,
a part of me is forever a part of you, and I'm just a part.
They say change location, change your life.
I'm so faraway and recluse I'll never see you.
But the haunting, it's not in the out, it's in—
I could never run away from that.
Sometimes I wonder if there's someone
on the other side also wondering, nodding
in brokenness me too, #MeToo.
Banner graphic source: A photograph titled "through rose-colored glasses", supplied by the poet.
See also: [NERObooks homepage] [tag:poetry]
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