The Most Beautiful Thing – somewhat suggestive
The Most Beautiful Thing
Oh it’s dark. But a small light shines,
Illuminating what little I can see of her.
It’s blurry. My glasses are next to the light,
Left there to avoid getting dirty. Dirtier.
Oh, we’re sweaty and sticky. I am not allowed
To do anything. So I lay and compose poetry
Distracting myself from the goddess sticking
Oh so elegantly to my skin. Her noises drive me
Wild. They make me want to help. But I am not
Allowed. Shift hips. Slide into her. There, yes there.
Oh her noises. I melt against her. It’s so hard to lie
And do nothing when she’s making those noises. Poetry.
The way people flow together, flow apart. The way that we
Flow together and flow apart.
Oh she’s screaming. This is the most beautiful thing
As she falls onto me, weak, knees not working. I can move.
So I do. I hug her close, stroke her hair. My turn.
Oh, I’m looking forward to this.
Carving – self injury trigger
Carving
I wish it was as easy to see
The marks that not cutting
Leave on me
As the jagged open wounds ripped
By a dull knife wielded in shame.
Because scars are a reminder of what you did.
But I don’t have anything so neat for what
I don’t do.
I have a ring. Silver. It sits on my finger.
A reminder of how long I have not cut.
861 Days. (I had to look it up. I am not
Careful enough to keep count). Two years is
The number I remember.
The way the ring sits the lines remind me
Of a tree. Resting on my finger, breathing with me
As I hold on to my will power hold off this thing
That I will never be able to beat.
For the rest of my life I will probably
Count those days.
I’m fucking proud of those days,
All of them hard won.
Fast Lane
Fast Lane
My life is forever going to be slow.
I live at a different pace because my body
Demands. Its demands grate on my nerves.
I see people fly by me, doing things so
Effortlessly. Look, this person works
And goes to school. They work and they
Go to school and they never wear dirty underwear
Because they are too tired to get out of bed.
What a world that would be, so different.
How much could I get done if I was not me
With this disability?
Oh, but where my will, my will did it come from?
Would I still have my will if I did not have to shape
My body away from so much disability?
How much would I get done if I was not me
With this disability?
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.
I have questions without answers (doesn’t
Everyone?) because what I want, oh what I want
Is to go into the fast lane with my peers, see them
LIVE.
But I can’t. I can’t live like them, my body (OH
MY BODY) will not allow it.
I sit in my chair as people speed by.
Fine, I huff. Fine, fine, fine. I will sit
And watch what I cannot have. I will paint
My chair wings, I will give it wheels, give it
Life.
I might not go anywhere, but I can make my own world.
If I must be caged, it will be a pretty cage
Made of language and stories, freedom from
My own little corner, in my own little chair.