frankly

from underneath me

there is a craving

inside me

an echo

you

it seems

belong both places

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come

sticky running through

it comes deeply

surviving on a hope

or a desperation

it comes softly

inside, in waves

stinging on a promise

you promised you’d make

come quietly

the only lie is that i’m on my stomach

by choice

the only truth is that i said yes to the kill

but no to the time

it comes quickly

and begins again where it ended–

within me, a swallow of mess and the silence of shame

hey

maybe in a year you’ll find the dried root

in the folds of your intestines

that’s given itself to fear and detachment

and you’ll finally know

where to plant it–

or maybe you’ll be embarrassed to look at him

because he’s hung you out

to dry

on the wires of anticipation.

either way–

you’ll still be older

in the same body,

hopefully driving the same tongue

into different dances,

verbal

and sweaty

and numb.

no surprise, really

i am sorry for all that i’ve been

and now my business

is promoting my original thought

for someone else’s sales

my words are owned by a person

i’ve never met

much like everyone else

i am 23 with

 

it all begins from within

and here i am

too obsessed with what i’m living without

the external is made by me, not makes me

how do i access that bit?

i wanted to do, so i did,

then i stopped

too aware of the glass

i was crushing in my unsigned checks

i was comfortably shape shifting

within

but it stops

and forward procession must be marked

by an intentional call toward detachment

but that’s not to say

i can’t love you

 

just that the only one

with the power to drive me crazy

should be whatever storm

is already inside of me

everything else are inventions

and i create, with you, a reality

a shared reality

that i’ve been mistaking for my own

foreclosure

gather the pieces of me that

the people who have seen my body

still hold onto

take back the part of me they believe they still have

take these pieces and not place them back

in me

but create something

outside of me

something that belongs to no one

that exists in time and not space

a separate self

a non bodied self

now untouchable, more whole than the fragments

that previous owners believed were assets

to their portfolio

 

though I loved you

your territorialism and chest puffing

and slut shaming and gaslit desire to keep me

“safe”

and

“pure”

said more about the percentage of my body

over which you believed you were owner

than of the respect

you claimed to have for my freedom-

men with skin like yours

want to own everything,

anyway

 

take back the piece of me

even from you

from the fingers before you, to the arms after you

that still calculate

my flesh

and my hollow space

that they were privileged enough (sometimes strong enough)

to touch

as a deposit into their self worth and sociopathic ideas

of what makes them “man”

 

though I loved you

I could not see you were holding onto

the final piece that needed to be collected

so I could deny

future ownership

and allow

this new wave of mine of escaping spirit

to live within me

without territory, without registry

unkept

untouched

by anyone who believes

they still own a share