When it hurts i stop for a bit. two bits. or three until it's pretty okay, at least until the peristaltis calms down a little so i can continue stuffing my mouth with garbage. they say mouth is hungrier than stomach, but i don't even know when my stomach is empty or full or numb or is it just because she's no longer here? has she left my body without me knowing? is it why my chest keeps hurting instead of this round belly?

When it hurts i think that's when it's okay to cry. but everytime i cry it stops because nothing in this world is free anymore, everything has a price and i keep feeling confused for what i have to choose. if i got to choose you know what i would, even though i don't, even though it's so last year, you know, last year i finally determined my choice but deep down i was still confused, and now i am too afraid to go even once more to the depth. if i got to choose, first i'd like to choose an answer to do i really have rights over my own body?

No. no, i don't. for my entire life i've been choosing no as the answer. and pleasant surprise for you, that's what's keeping me alive.

All along in my tongue mother comes she stays for quite a long time. it was all in my head when i decided i had my own taste because i certainly don't, i had been so tasteless before i was growing out of a broken moon in mother's funny womb.

My tongue is the ungrateful one. at least i can appreciate the fact that i once had purity but when in this silly world nothing greater than intensity and dirt all over the place so, basically mother saved me. she'd put all her might on my tongue and god it is definitely infinite!

Now stomach is exhausted and head understands too much, now and then they both ache for each other, they both are trying to ruin me again and burn me with jealousy. for all what i've done is mother's doings, for all what i've tasted is mother. honestly i can't remember anymore how neutral tasted like, how my own tongue tasted like.

All along in my tongue mother has been lazy and a queen. nothing moves her except i remove my own tongue, but twist is she only comes and stays and she never goes. (god isn't this pointless, what use of your face if i can't see it, if my feet keep dragging me further from your back, if my glasses keep shattering and my eyes full of sand?)

(Nothing is keeping me away from you anymore, even when mother nags in my tongue and sour thing meddles with my throat.) i have been emptier before but nothing matters anymore, i was here before i am not, now i must have known the taste i've lost because of mother or not because of her, it's actually nothing at all.

God this head is about to explode
with nothing is ever going on
nothing is ever getting done

hey, aren't you funny
come here, please do more
have my skin, breathe me in

i only want your hands, your milky fingers
well, your voice, your silky vibes
yes, calm me down, stop me when i raise my voice

just how did we become so old?
see how you did not change even for a bit
i begin to forget the years we have been through

were you even really there,
were you even real, hey,
before this really ends don't you just want to say something?

God my head is about to explode
isn't this too overwhelming,
all the years we have been through?

The first time i touched a girl i didn't know it was supposed to be light and tasteless. it was an earthquake, light just because i was so close to the earth. i remember my own tongue tasted like sea and blue.

The first time i touched a girl we were both 8. she laughed because i was trembling too much. my hands were cold like chilled tea, but she didn't know beneath her thick clothes that it was actually a thing.

The first time i touched a girl it was a girl with naturally red cheeks. my mother used to call her tomato cheeks, and i'd tell my mother how healthy her skin was. as healthy as her healthy hair, dark brown, long and smooth and straight.

It felt different when i couldn't touch a girl. not that i wanted to touch her, but we were 13, and she had a boyfriend, and i wanted a boyfriend too. but her smile was my cure and i kept searching for her teeth in the night sky.

When i was 15 i met a girl and we became good friends. when i touched her it was friendly but i wanted it to grow even more and more intense. i hadn't realized until i saw her bare back, i wanted her, i wanted her so bad i should stop.

But i didn't really stop. i do not stop, i am unable to stop. 11 years from when i first touched a girl i still long for tenderness and soft skin.

ii.

smooth thing, you have thighs
seem sweet and chewy, no bake.
please sit on my face.

My stomach wasn't like this before.
My stomach was the neutral thing.
My stomach wasn't this much of a lake creature.
My stomach was a soft, balanced thing.
My stomach wasn't this sharp before.
My stomach didn't cut me open.
My stomach didn't make me hurt.
My stomach was the one keeping me yellow.
My stomach now loves too much of red thing.
My stomach now loves too much of sour and spicy thing.
My stomach now, I cannot blame her.
My stomach now, is all my fault.
My stomach will not understand my evil intention.
My stomach will cry in joy.
My stomach will end up having party in my mouth.
She loves pinkish shade, like a tongue.

The eye was hurt plenty of times before.
In a hollow filled with nice things,
they overflowed, no one was a baby to a right hand.
In the other hand, field of moms trying so desperately to avoid babies,
moms setting all toilets and fingers as contraception,
moms anxious about boys and suspicious about girls.
Boys apparently had those pregnancy machines and girls were the neutral side,
boys just had to plant smarty seed to see what number would show in girls' innocent tummy.
Boys grow as engineers and the engines often roar like crazy,
though it is now different from what I was taught about girls.
-----------
-----------
Skin was just some other walls,
but, really, skin is marshmallow
even the softest tongue can destroy.
You know, tummy
isn't that really innocent either.
Tummy was a determined sister in a dim church,
tummy was mother mary and holy spirit,
tummy was not an apetite for what wasn't in the tabernacle.
Tummy now has cracked her shell, so I see inside,
apparently tummy has some other things beside a fertile empty land.
The gases and the blood are in different tunnels, though
there is something else about miss tummy womb.
She isn't at all neutral, she isn't at all an item of the season.
She softens every time it rains, she makes
her own weather in her own territory.
I now know, neutral was only the word stuck between scared parents' teeth,
neutral was only the gift we didn't know was a troll,
neutral was only a paradox in the most destructive way possible.
-----------
-----------
Careful with essentially hurtful words, we
sweat, with perfect heat,
as the skins melt into one giant chewy lump.
What I didn't know about skin was
that girls had skin too,
girls just were not in their element back then;
I think girls with metallic things were sinners just a little bit too checkmate,
I think girls were housewives just a little bit too godlike.