I
would die at nine, suffering by 4, a door into adulthood. a desk engraved a
window with paint, a vestibule into a bad ass problem. getting ghost, gathered
inside, going through green gout. a torpedo in motion, an issue with phantoms,
a silent, non-salacious substitute. to die like leaves, so deciduous, I was at
it by autumn. a sickle to raw air, a treasure in chastity, it was pain losing
virginity. unshod, released to the world, how to obey, filled with
maliciousness—the hands that ruled me, the contempt inside, the way I hated
myself? upon a gallica flower, lost in trees, those battles in a cedarchest.
pure sundew melons, afraid to eat watermelon, a mere exaggeration!
self-loathing, taught to loathe, abased in a space, dear travesties! many would
gaslight, to achieve control, I’d suppled a whole region. how to detangle, how
to become tangible—reachable, in a sphere allergic to nonviolence? hear the
critique, most seem crazy, like how in hell is that normal? the wealth of the
weal, the curse of the crushed, the war of the wrangler. so much a problem, so
much a paradox, so much a crush—losing language, looking lost, left to die at
lakes. I needed a recipe, a soul receipt, while running the risk of mishandling
words. medieval cries, in caves, so undercut—to speak like it was forever, a
true tragedy, knowing we love, we adore, we cherish, mostly, in seasons. I was
dead by 20. I was alive—as a child was born. shortly after, I was dead again.
carrying too many trefoils, too much trauma, how in hell to love another? much
travail, it led to inertia, I sat still looking with a stronger gaze. I laugh
at times. I drop a tear. I bounce back. too much to release this tsunami. the
envy of the panda. the passion of the panther. the solitude of Amanda. I get
ghost, feeling gangly, at a grape pleading for wine. a small thing to a
warrior, a disaster to a weaker ego, I float like knowing something vital. it’s noon, I’m hurting. I hear the phone!
