E – Week 7 Poetry Collection

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.

 

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