I've never been good at
Being touched.

Though the fingers
Of endless suitors
Have traced incomparable
Lines of affection,
They all stroke
The same wounds.

New hands feel like
Recycled lullabies,
Humming promises
Of a new melody,
Singing a remedy for
My impassivity.

Whether words fall
Passionate or
Fearful,
Endearment lines my lips
With an expiration
Long enough to convince me,
But short enough to leave me.

Reminding me:
The disintegration of
Indifference
Remains
My prerequisite
For destruction.

So before you
Touch me with
Promises of a new
Orchestration,
I'm already marking the
Days until you leave.

Because my skin
Is tired of
Intruders hidden
Behind momentary
Infatuation.

So keep your hands to yourself.

She was remarkable
Easily the most beautiful
She was complicated
Her hair all tangled
Like a ball of yarn in the cats paw
And all I ever wanted in life
Was to sit by her
And help untie her knots

when i was nine,
you punched the guy who
stole my teddy bear. that's how
we first met. i shared my peanut
butter and jelly sandwich with
you at lunch, because it was the
only way i knew how to say thanks.

when i was thirteen,
your family used to come over
to our house, and we'd have
dinner together. my parents,
your parents; my brother, your
sister. you and me.

when i was fourteen,
i dated a boy three years older
than we were. you were always
worried that something would happen,
you didn't trust him. i never knew
it was because you loved me.
you were right.

when i was fifteen,
my boyfriend hit me. he punched me
because he thought i was flirting
with a friend. he drove me, unconscious,
to a hospital, but we crashed into
another car. he was drunk. your
parents and mine were in that car.
your dad died, and so did both my parents.
i never knew so much pain.

when i was seventeen,
we dated for a while, but then
you went away. you never called,
never answered my calls. it was like you
disappeared from the face of the earth.
i lost my best friend, i lost the boy i loved.

when i was twenty-one,
i met you at a masquerade party
thrown by one of our friends. you didn't
recognize me. i found out you were
in a car accident, and you'd lost your memory.
we started again, from the beginning.

when i was twenty-two,
we fell in love all over again.
you started to remember little things
from the past, but to me you were always
the same parker i had always known.
the same parker i fell in love with.

when i was twenty-three,*
you asked me to marry you.
i said yes. but people are people,
and sometimes we change our minds.
i remember crying, pressing the ring
into your palm, telling you i couldn't do this.

when i was twenty-four,
our best friends got married. i met
you at the wedding, and we decided to
give it another shot. it worked, and we
finally, finally tied the knot.

when i was twenty-five,
we had our first child. he was a handful.
you were a doctor, i was a lawyer.
both busy, both new to this life.
we had our first fight at 2.33am,
and i ran out of the house. you followed me,
and told me i'd never be alone. i believed you.

now, i'm twenty-seven.
we had another child, a beautiful girl.
but you're never home. your
job keeps you out till late at night,
and i never know where you are.
i saw you at the grocery store, with
another woman. i was upset, i accused
you without even knowing what was
going on. i was wrong. i told you
i wanted a divorce. the look on your face
made my heart break.

i regret it. i regret everything.
but if i could go back in time
and meet you again, knowing
i would end up losing you, i would
still choose to love you, because
loving you was worth losing you.
we were always parkerandlissa,
neither complete without the other.

i'm so so sorry,
and i will miss you.

Take me to your *******
@cisgenderwhitemale
in salmon shorts sport polo
boat shoes and expensive cologne—

I, emissary of the InterPlanetary
Order of Eugenically-Minded Denizens (IPOEMD),
have come to rid the world
of this contagion—

who for too long has
beguiled us with their
wicked fashion sense
and appalling profile pictures

appearing on friends’ dad’s yachts
smiling behind a pair of Ray-Bans
with a glass of champagne
drunk underage.

Your valedictorian address
bored me,
your sexist racist homophobic xenophobic (etc. etc.)
inside jokes to your friends
on the lacrosse team
sickened me—

I’ve had to listen to you
brag about your ***** size
since puberty and your discovery
of Spike TV—

I watch you mock Black English
in tweets and hashtags
from locker rooms where
the talk can range from
racial slurs to ****-shaming spurs

(talk never to ****
upon its potential revelation
in a political campaign)—

I film your weddings
where you dance all night
in your Aryan enclave
to top 40 songs
screaming “This is my jam!!!”

I scroll through your #familyvaca2k17 posts,
the immaculate hotels and poolside views
concealing the succeeding flophouses crumbling adobes
and dog-ridden streets of dirt and infinite trash—

I see you engrave in bold
ALL LIVES MATTER
BLUE LIVES MATTER
AMERICAN LIVES MATTER
on every writable surface—

and as a meninist,
lament about the harrowing trials
as a victim of reverse racism.

[The white man’s burden
is to carry the weight
of their inability
to be anything
other than
incorrigible.]

I have come to rid the world of you
once and for all:

Taking the Gideon’s bible
from every hotel
and replacing it with
feminist literature,

burning down every
Banana Republic and
coinciding shopping mall,

cutting the brakes
to every Mercedes, Lexus,
and BMW with a
“Salt Life” sticker
on the back window—

You wear your ethnocentrism
like the sleeves of the cardigan
wrapped around your neck
swaying in the air conditioned wind
like a little cape—

[Behold, Cis-Man!

Whose superpowers include:

Getting away with ****
and perpetuating **** culture,

Minimal jail sentences (if at all),

Guaranteed college entry,

Speeding ticket immunity,

and impeccable draft dodgings.]—

I solemnly swear,
I make a pledge
to never procreate
if it will perpetuate
this vile sect of humankind—

I take a vow of celibacy,
I spill my ***** into the dirt—
not one egg will be fertilized,
not one will be conceived

to the soundtrack of Coldplay,
or Kid Rock, or whatever hair metal ballad
conceived you in the first place—

You are a logical phallicy.

You want to talk about eugenics,
you want to stop
breeding all the “retards
spittin’ on your kids”
at the amusement park—

Pledge chastity with me:
Interbreed,
undilute the strain—

and together,
we can end
the White Man’s True Burden:
Existence.






(p.s.
And it is with great irony
that I write this as one of you—
the Judas to your
Megachurch TV Caucasian Christ—

I write it because
if it were by one of
whom you’ve held
under your [jackboots to boat shoes]
since time immemorial—
they’d never stand
to read it—

for even mutiny
among these ranks
has its own
privileges.)

"... had an early lunch."
"... already ate... not hungry."
My daily white lies.

One hundred pounds. Most
Teenage girls' dream size, but the
Weight of my nightmares.

"... eating disorder..."
The last words I hear before
My head hits the ground.

I don't even feel
it anymore. My body
Got used to starving.

A penny for each
Meal I've thrown out could buy me
Another water.

Work out until your
Size is small as your daily
Calorie intake.

"You're far too skinny"
They don't see the fat girl that
Lives in my mirror.

- p. winter