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Max Gisel Jul 6
What is so wrong with me that I must ****** myself into these situations?
Ones where I snag fishing hooks to the ends of my mouth,
Forcefully pulling it into a performative smile for the comfort of others.
Giving into every whim and demand they ask of me,
All so I won't be alone in my thoughts, and broken beyond comprehension.
As the hooks begin to tear and the tears begin to shed, I regret.
I do not want to smile anymore, though I do not want to be alone.
I begin pulling at the shreds of my remaining flesh upon my face,
Trying to configure it to be positive, to show no pain in my expression.
But the pain is unbearable, my face falls in chunks on the floor,
Revealing me, a disgusting monster puppeting this human form.
Still unable to shake the dread, and having to pin up a smile for others.
The situations never leave me, and the scars of my reconfiguration remain.
I'm a bad people pleaser lets just say
Max Gisel May 17
Wandering around the market,
Full of nothing and lacking
The kind of humanity I used to have.
My eye caught by the red-pink
Of the raw meat in a glass case.

I found myself staring at it,
Almost a familiar sight.
Thinking nothing of it at all,
I continued staring.
Something about it stuck to me.

The way the white fat ran through
Pink and red muscle tissue.
The big areas of redness struck me,
Slightly jagged and misshapen.
And juice pooling under it.

The animal was given no thought,
Not other than how it served people.
Its body parts were nothing more than dishes,
Ones for the pleasure of the strong to eat.
There were no animals in this market.

Here laid the former cows,
Their parts separated and sorted.
How convenient to be on display,
To be freshly cleaned and wrapped.
No pieces flawed or ruined.

Oh to be a slab of meat,
Nothing of your former self,
Born to die to feed people,
Or thrown out once you've gone bad.
I suppose I am not far from it.
I don't like looking at raw meat, it's so fleshy and just reminds me we are all just meat covered in skin meat. I am not vegan or anything, but I just relate to meat, that I am made for the use of others, and if I fail that use then I get tossed out, like meat. I don't know it's just kinda a weird thing to look at packaged flesh with a price tag on it. This one was a weird write I'll admit.
Max Gisel May 13
How can they say what MY nature is?
That what I was born with dictates my temperament.
I must nurture and endure the pain,
Allowing my body to be distorted and bloated,
All for some husband to have a mini-him,
And to add to my constant laboring.
Men socialized to treat a wife like a mother,
Coddled and fawned over by her,
Allowed to come back from work to a home cooked meal,
While their wife's endless work never ceases.
It took me a while to realize I was supposed to grow into a woman as a young child. For some reason I thought I was exempt from that, and that I was just a boy who wasn't allowed to have short hair. After I figured out that was not the case, I was in horror of the idea of "submitting to your husband."
I didn't want to give birth or wear a wedding dress, or even be a woman in general. Of course there were more reasons, but really I think the stuff my church told us made me resent how I was born even more. I have learned that of course this is a very outdated and awful example of marriage, but still, some people (men specifically) think this is ideal. Which is far from the truth.
I wrote this to express my thoughts on this whole awful concept.
Max Gisel May 10
Max
I am a nameless creature so fluid,
Never the same from day to day.
I pinned myself down too soon,
On a whim I named myself.
It was the wrong time for it,
I was not ready and didn't think.
Now I am 17,
No longer the scared 13 year old I was.
The name I chose was wrong.
My parents detested it too much,
And it just wasn't mine.
I know no name shall feel like mine,
Not more than a few months,
But that's okay with me.
I will pin myself down again,
My name is now Max.
It may stick,
It may not.
I picked the name Jack when I was maybe 13 or so while in a mental hospital. It was ok, but my parents didn't like it since it was my great grandpa's or something. They didn't want me to "ruin" what they thought of when his name was said. I know I shouldn't let them dictate my life so much, but Max is cooler I guess. Anything to avoid my birth name.
Max Gisel May 8
No one sees the useless old thing,
Perhaps a trophy from an old hunting trip,
Or a once prized possession of a collector.
Anything you can think of may fit,
But we all know what it was:
A plain old barn owl collecting dust
Upon the shelf of some antique store.
Killed and stuffed as decoration,
Passed around by its previous owners,
Re-gifted endlessly due to its unsettling gaze.
No one cared as its body ceased moving,
And its wonderful feathers became drenched
In its blood and the dew upon the grass.
Forever the bird will be posed upon its stand.
A whisper of its former freedom and glory.
No one will see how it should've been,
Only what it is now:
In the corner of the antique store collecting dust.
Just some thoughts on life. How fleeting it is, and how they always preserve the memory of you so unnaturally.
Max Gisel May 7
I am not sure why I did it,
Well that's what I'm going to say
Once I get caught with it.

Because we all know it'll happen.
I know why I stole the thing,
It's not very simple to explain:

The memories wouldn't stop,
I wanted some control over my life,
The urge needed to be fulfilled,

But the general, easy explanation:
I wanted to do it,
I have waited so long.

It's not like me to steal,
At least that's what they think.
I've thought about this for so long.

I contemplate doing many things:
So many horrible things,
Things I'd rather die than do.

I want to scream and cry,
Throw things, flip tables,
Show them how I really feel.

But I don't,
I keep up my reputation,
Smile through all of it.

I don't let anyone know,
If they knew half of it,
I would have no one.

The funny part about this
Is that I don't regret it at all,
I know I should.

I don't regret it,
Relief instantly washed over me,
Like the sick being I am.
No idea where I was going with this one, super un-poetic, just feeling a bit alien today. This was really unlike me, I don't steal. I'm not even going to explain what I stole because that's a whole other can of worms I'm NOT opening. I feel like I'm so ashamed for most things in life, even breathing feels worthy of punishment at times. But this feels different. I'm not ashamed about stealing, I'm ashamed about how I feel nothing negative about it.
Max Gisel May 7
I stare at this form,
This cursed effeminate object.
I trace my fingers over soft skin,
Halting at the bumps on it.
The fingers gouge them out,
Mindlessly ripping the imperfections away.
I graze it again,
Only to extract more skin.
Pieces of flesh under my nails,
Small blood drops form in place of the bump.
I see my form beneath the shed layers.
My angelic, ****** form
Finally breathes the air of this world.
I pull more and more,
Once mere crumbs of flesh become chunks.
Slowly freeing my holiness
From the cage of flesh around me.
The blood runs down my face,
Now tattered and gone.
I stare at myself.
Interpret this as you may. I know its kinda gross just bear with me guys. I think I'm tapping into some good juicy topics.
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