i. I can’t continue to fall asleep in the practice rooms down the hall to the band room.
I can’t continue to cry on the floor of the girl’s bathroom on the way to art class.
I can’t continue to do what I have been doing to you.
ii. I am hugging the toilet bowl and saying “please” over and over.
My breakfast comes back all at once and I begin to cry.
I will not eat for the next week and survive off of 7-up and drown in missed homework.
iii. “Seppuku, stomach cutting, is a form of Japanese ritual suicide by disembowelment.”
I parade around the stage like a model and banter with Connor in a thick French accent. My stomach is bleeding out, and my underwear is stained red even though I had my period two weeks ago.
Tre wraps his arms around my waist and rests his hands on my stomach.
iv. “I should have kissed you. Every time in my car,” you said. My hands were pressed on your shoulders and you were looking right at me.
After we kissed, my stomach felt like it was ablaze. I left school and went to the doctor; she asked if I was stressed about anything.
I told her not anymore.
v. Satan’s Saxophones was playing in your car as we took Tre home. He kept laughing and you kept asking him about his therapy, about his home life. There was ice cream drowning in root beer and I was irritated.
We dropped Tre off
“Have you ever been in love?” you asked me.
Not with you.
Not yet, anyway.
vi. She was a walking skeleton in her pink prom dress.
“Jesus Christ, look at her collarbones.”
My stomach made sounds like white noise on a television. I tapped on my own collarbones and laid my head on Quinn’s shoulder.
vii. I stuck my finger down my throat and nothing really happened.
I stuck my sister’s toothbrush down my throat and she told me she was fat.
He stuck his tongue down my throat and I pushed him away.
I stuck my finger down my throat and nothing really happened.
viii. I went to the bathroom six times before we left Emily’s house.
I want my body to make up her mind.
You have a leaf on your shoe,
I bet that was noticeable for you
By the time you got to my house I had the flu
Stuck in bed,
I have to fix what's inside my head
You're so nice to be around,
You make me forget my stomach hurts
Normally I would vomit at the sight of anybody else,
But I guess that's just because you're afraid of vomit,
When people are much more terrifying
It's not as much butterflies in my stomach anymore.
They've migrated to my throat,
Choking me off.
I want to say something beautiful
Paint a picture of eloquence that would take your breath away,
But apparently I'm the one lacking air.
What used to fill my whole being with a flush anticipation
Has caused a fickle for my respiration.
Under the cluster of wings in my throat
I feel each movement-
The hum of so called life.
But will I still be living when I lack air?
These butterflies have lone gone from wonderful and turned
It makes me wonder how something so beautifully fragile could turn so
"Whenever you're stressed,
you internalize it to your gut"
my doctor told me.
My mother always said:
"You feel everything in your stomach."
And it all makes sense now,
How I got knots and twists,
when you said goodbye.
And how I got nauseous,
when I saw you holding her hand.
But if that's true,
why does my chest hurt so much?
Guys, meet stomach
Stomach meet everyone
Stomach loves to shrink
stomach loves to puke
stomach loves to ache
Stomach loves to churn
Stomach loves to
Oh it's breakfast?
I don't feel like it
Oh it's lunch
Pfft you're kidding
Stomach is weak
Stomach is annoying
Stomach is an asshole
Those hot peppers you feed me
tsssss all the way down
smoke is in the intestines
have you punched me?
i am sore.
i am woozy from you
a wooden ship on rough seas
swallowed enough air for zeppelins
under your shirt hides a fleshy balloon
have I wronged you?
i am sensetive
It's Mother's milk I burn for
You with cinnamon
To tuck you in
With Dizzy dreams to wish
Memories of evil men
Video and Audio your
Life records on tape
to disk to dvd and
The world views you on
Giant screen not to mention
HD-flaws burn bright in
Closed red minds
Those minds whose thoughts
Lie with his neighbor's wife
As he recites the bible in his
Triple X underwear
Heads filled full with echoing gossip
Too Loud to even hear the beating they let
Be taken by their son the 'queer'
Who hides at night in fear and Prayer
To the man you put on his pedestal
Damning his intuition of what feels right
and what's told wrong