Unfinished. in The Writer

  • Oct. 5, 2017, 1:18 a.m.
  • |
  • Public

I want a body that brooks no argument.
That bites, instead of cowers when abused,
bares its teeth at a lingering hand-
a body that stands up for itself,
and refuses to be muzzled.

I have been the body;
both like a door held open,
and a secreted away speak easy.
Open to all, open to none.

Broken into,
and boarded up.

Because-
how many times did it happen, exactly?
Because-
you probably are misremembering.
Because-
you did like when he said he needed you,
that only you understood him?

and mainly-
but wasn’t it at least a little exciting?

I want a body that wears missiles for shoulder pads,
and barbed wire for nylons,
to fasten a shirt with serrated buttons and know-
This Is Safety.
This- is what security looks like,
when your body is breasts instead of biceps.

And when they grab you,
because they will-
act surprised, a tiny gasp from a mouth they can only imagine
giving a blowjob.
That you should be a weapon in your weakness.

These are the victories, these small battles I nestle at night,
when I strip the armor, and lay in bed defenseless.


Last updated December 14, 2017


pandora October 05, 2017

This is excellent. Have you ever thought about doing some of your poetry at local spoken-word events?

Red October 05, 2017

TellTaleHeart October 05, 2017

I know the topic is tough, but this is so gorgeously written.

Hillbilly Princess October 06, 2017

Well done.

missing maui October 13, 2017

<3

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