I wish I could unfold my brain like a map
Pluck out memories, savor them like candy,
pinch off fears and regrets, crush them
like blackened, cancerous leaves—
gone
Pick them out; you can have them.
(No no no, I need those
They make me who I am—
who I are — too)
I come in many versions of the truth,
all of them lies.
Which one is your favorite?
Pick it out; you can have it.
(I must have done something wrong in a past life)
I forgot what else I was going to say,
which is why
I wish I could unfold my brain like a map;
Find the monster, expose
him— or is it
her? Would my own kind
betray me? (Yes)
– and squash it like a spider.
That’s what I do. I have a shoe
that I grab, and
before I can think,
before it can blink:
whack,
With a silent little prayer—
(for all I know, the poor thing was innocent)
and send him (her)
on her (his)
way.
A
city
can’t
prosper
while
fighting
off
the
devil
(him)
(her)
(it)
self.
My brain is not the blooming, bustling metropolis it once was.
(I’m not sure where to put this line.
Why don’t you decide? This is, after all, your poem now.
You picked it out; you can have it.)
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
I wish I could unfold my brain like a map
Pluck out memories, savor them like candy,
pinch off fears and regrets, crush them
like blackened, cancerous leaves—
gone
Pick them out; you can have them.
(No no no, I need those
They make me who I am—
who I are — too)
I come in many versions of the truth,
all of them lies.
Which one is your favorite?
Pick it out; you can have it.
(I must have done something wrong in a past life)
I forgot what else I was going to say,
which is why
I wish I could unfold my brain like a map;
Find the monster, expose
him— or is it
her? Would my own kind
betray me? (Yes)
– and squash it like a spider.
That’s what I do. I have a shoe
that I grab, and
before I can think,
before it can blink:
whack,
With a silent little prayer—
(for all I know, the poor thing was innocent)
and send him (her)
on her (his)
way.
A
city
can’t
prosper
while
fighting
off
the
devil
(him)
(her)
(it)
self.
My brain is not the blooming, bustling metropolis it once was.
(I’m not sure where to put this line.
Why don’t you decide? This is, after all, your poem now.
You picked it out; you can have it.)
I wrote this during a phase where it felt like my inner dialogue was split between 2 different versions of myself, who were always fighting each other. One "version" is in regular text, the other in parentheses. I've used it to a varying degree in a lot of my work, & now & then I still bust out the parentheses to demonstrate conflicting or subconscious "add-in" thoughts in a poem.