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Becca Lansman Sep 15
your dripping fingers
reached into my stomach
scratching
each long fingernail against the sheath of my organs

not so long as to puncture
but just long enough to leave a lasting mark

the scar of our leftover lust affair
seared into the very core of me

your handprint; like a remembrance flag
waving
tall and proud
planted right at the place where my world begins.

a windless sky—all shame and no remorse
your name carved into my night blue veins

i am all breath and body and heaving;
you are all skin and stone and night sky

pulsating like a parched tongue on a seasonless evening

i am all blood and bones and fire—

ignited
i swallow myself
for fear of burning Our entire town

my skin turned ash; all that remains is

You

burnt and becoming;
We pulsate in the remembrance.
My bones bubble with lava
red pustules absorbing the hot air an angry cloud full of
hail and snow and sleet
blockades my throat
I am all feelings and no action
all body but no voice
Wet and Wanting
All ears and no mouth
All tongue and teeth and spit
but no words
A violent storm with no landing zone

What am I to do with all this wreckage?
Becca Lansman Sep 2018
You walked into the butcher shop
eyes of blue determination
asked me to hand you the cow heart.
Still beating, i let it slip into you hot palm
letting the blood trickle down our arms as our fingers featherd each others wrists.
You took the corpse and slipped it deep into your jean pocket like a secret love affair.


You asked me if i wanted to go swimming sometime. It was not a question.
I cordially accept your wet invitation.

We splashed in the melted blue like children yet unbroken by the cruelties of living.

We ate each other.
Starving
you told me i was the first meal you had in months
and i, so innocently believed you.

The next day you invited me over for dinner. It was not a question.
Full on lust i accepted

Hot
you opened the kitchen door quickly and whispered down my spine,
my body like lava erupting before we made it to the first course.

On the dinner table lay the butchered
heart.
Still beating you asked me to take the first bite,
and i, brimming with your desire- did

I swallowed it like a rock.
pulsating through my core, shaking my small frame.

You kissed my stomach.

The next day i awoke in cold sweats.
Feverish
Vomiting up my stomach lining chunky and undigested.

I left you three messages.

Sick. White. Quaking.
I waited.

Disintegrating into myself. The flesh melting off my body like a landslide.
A hurricane in slow motion.

I waited.

you skinned me like a thanksgiving turkey
left me on your kitchen table to be picked at by the angry flies.
A slow meticulous death.

You said “look into my eyes.”
And i was so lost in the blue i allowed you to take the knife right to the place where the world begins.

I was so in love with an idea.

I ate your heart without question not understanding that you cannot consume someone into loving you.

What goes in must come out.

Now, what is left of our lust lines the bathroom sink.

A bath of blood and bile
I obsessively pick though trying to discern where I went wrong.
Becca Lansman Jul 2018
My body and mind are at war
two beings occupying the same skin

the diverged desire firing bullets into the heart
creating a cacophony of chaos within me

One--
******* the jar of peanut butter
hidden by the blanket of dark sky
hugging the fridge like a newborn
caressing the chocolate bar wrapper

Two--
crouched over
crying in the shower
pinching my skin until bright pink, hot
with anger

trying to resurrect myself into someone more holy
trying to starve
out the monster within

only to find myself back on the bathroom tile singing gospel songs into the toilet bowl.

a cyclical strom
that will not stop raging

like a perverted lover
always, somehow
dragging you back home.
Becca Lansman Jul 2018
I am a melting *** of guilt
overflowing and staining the carpet--
I will give all of myself to you

bones to eyelashes  --

let me bleed for you
hold you in my arms drowning
in what i could not give

I lay awake

counting the ways i could have done more
counting the ways it was my fault
allowing the guilt to fester on my skin the acid

burning holes
leaving scars

A reminder that I
could have done better.
Becca Lansman Jul 2018
I will peel off my skin like a tangerine
open myself at the core and ask you to take everything.
Drink my nectar
bite my fleshy organs until my insides leak down your chin--

leave nothing.

Devour each part of me
until i am skin on the pavement
an empty sack of desire void of usefulness
danming myself for not giving more.
Becca Lansman Feb 2018
I was never taught to say no.
Spit fire.
Only to duct tape my hands. Glue my lips.
Nod before the question was asked.
I learned niceness as synonym for women. I learned yes as synonym for niceness.
Aggression must be swallowed. Emotion only shown if it is full of rainbows and butterflies. Of high pitched yeses and forced giggles.
I must eat my guilt, my pain, my anger. Guzzle it with no water.
Choke down the rage, the irritation.
Tie up my suffering in pink lace; place it delicately in a Tiffany's box. Buried underneath my pillow.
like reciting my favorite song lyrics, over and over and over until I can’t remember their meaning but can’t stop humming the melody.

He asks if it is okay and I delicately peel back my skin.
“How could I not be” I say in flawless harmony.
Next time he doesn’t ask if it's okay but I don’t say no. I try to speak but my throat is a desert— hacking up the remains of my innocence.
In perfect pitch I recite the words as I gag back the hurt, the pain, the pain, letting the guilt leak onto my lips and crawl up my skirt.
More afraid of being accused of meanness than claiming my body as my own.

As a woman I have learned that being nice is more important than saying no. That no is synonym for mean, *****, *****. That mean is synonym for unwomanly.
And what am I without my womanhood?
I have devoured my words for dinner more often than not in hopes of saving my feminine.

I was never taught to say no.
I don’t know how to say no.

Only to sit in the corner like a trained dog and hold my breath. Only to sing along until my throat runs dry, until I’m coughing up blood all over your white carpet.
Smiling.
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