Did the girth of my thighs and the way they
Run this earth shaking, quaking, leaving
Fireprints on their paths behind,
Scare your flammable, charred-bark colored eyes
Did my five feet and ten inches fingers toes
Two filled lungs feeding heart and brain
Tower over your equal height and
Half sized mind, was the thought of a
Home between my legs really too much to
Believe is that why you felt the need to
Break and enter when the door was locked
Windows bolted and shut, the word
“No”
Out of my mouth and out of my gut
Do you kiss your mother with the same mouth
That burned holes in my back
Do you shake your father’s hand with the same hand
That tried to rip me in half

I am still here still tall and still strong
Still flying beyond the foulness of
Your being still seeing beauty
Gracing this earth and this skin
I am in, ivory and speckled and
Tenderly taught, thick to the core
I am so much more
I am
Too woman for you

It usually takes about 5 minutes for me to blackout
while sitting on the black leather on the black tar
going 60 fully there but not quite fully aware.
This is my third autopilot and so far
I like her the most because she has the biggest eyes
though she sometimes glitches and needs to be reminded
that even at a beety red light there’s no need to
jot down an idea for a poem, or even world peace
(The two are not the same.)

So while the road lines melt into a
side swept long exposure dizzy photograph, but
like the ones that move in the Harry Potter movies
and I assume the books too, the books I would
definitely like but probably will never actually read,
the photographs like living live photos seemingly
sweet memories coming to life but in reality
a horrifying knock off of the fly on the wall
except this fly could be your late grandma
in portrait mode or an angsty teen musician
stuck in a teeny-bopper magazine poster, and
as I am seeing all of these animated flipbooks
I realize, just maybe, in another life I was
definitely a Cher imposter but with a
better impression than she herself.

Then a singing sea nymph and even those cursed by her,
one of Cleopatra’s snakes, stuck in a life
without limbs, let alone thumbs
but a mouth to devour and ultimately,
importantly, perfect teeth.
I am not fit to be a pet still though, to be forced to
always listen and never speak never fully
understood, except, not being a pet
doesn’t even mean I have done or
not done those things I am just always
done and not done, undone and now done
with this drive and unsure of
just quite how I made it here, I believe, alive.