Nov 2012
I Guess She Must Have Been Starving.**
Wasn't Well Fed Enough To Keep Her Skin And Bones, Her Silk And Gold, More Than Just Skin And Bones.
Momma Said She Was Hungry For Heart Ache.
It Was The Echo Of Her Own Voice, The Empty Callouses On Her Palms And The Way She Had Written Hell Bent Across Her Knuckles, Loved By So Many She Was Worn Out, Worn Down, Like On Old Pair Of Shoes.
She Cleaned Her Plate Every Night, Her Mouth Full Of More Teeth Than Her Jaw Could Hold.
She Told Me, After Supper, She'd Find Palm Prints That Match Her Own, But She Was Always Too Tired To Go Out Looking
There Were Street Corners, And Fish Nets, She Told Me That Were Meant For Catching Men, She Always Wore Her Skin Too Tightly, Like It Didn't Fit Her Right, Like It Had Been Handed Down To Her, From An Older Sister With Broader Shoulders, And A Thousand Watt Smile, That Her Teeth Could Never Generate.
She Told Me She Had Tasted So Many Flavors.
Said That Her Tongue Could Contort, To The Taste Of Memory. The Lavender Eyelashes Who Kept Saying Sorry, The Butterscotch Fingertips That Wouldn't Look Her In The Eyes, The Honeycomb Heart Break Whose Lips Felt Like Regret, The Cherry **** Knuckles Who Painted Her Flesh Purple Under His Palms, The Cotton Candy Wrists Who Wouldn't Stop Swearing, The Elderberry Shoulder Blades That Were Always Shaking.
I Think They Called Her Man Eater.
Capable Of Unhinging Her Jaw Like A Python, Swallowing Her Subjects Whole, It Wasn't That She Was So Hungry, It Was That She Had To.
I Think Someone Printed Prey Across Her Hip Bones, Made Her Feel Like Where Ever She Was Going, She Had To Run To, Eyes Too Big, Too Bright, Too Empty For The Planes Of Her Face, She Was Use To Being Hollow, Her Stomach, Wound Tight Around What Was Left Of Her Insides.
She Had Regurgitated Every Ounce Of Herself Back Up To Them, Stripped Down, Every Layer Of Her Skin, Until She Was Naked. Bare Like The Back She Had Carried Me On.
Her Bedroom Didn't Have A Lock On The Door. I Could Find Her Bent Over Porcelain Coffins, Emptying Out The Fill She Had Eaten That Night.
Said It Never Tasted As Good The Second Time Around.
I'd Hold Her Hair, With Small Hands That We're Always Grabbing Things They Shouldn’t, And Listen To Her Body Betray Her.
She Was Cellophane And Cheap Lip Gloss, Born Screaming, Ravenous For Rejected Remembrance, I Was Always Trying To Be Enough For Her, Shoving Home Cooked Meals Under The Bathroom Door, Said Soul Food Could Save Her, Said Sunlight Could Unshackle Her, But The Lines Of Her Body, The Road Maps Behind Her Eyelids, Said She Needed More Then Empty Calories, More Than The Taste Of Her Own Sweat.
Love Wasn't A Flavor Anyone Had Ever Fed Her.
All She Knew Was An Appetizer Of Angry Words, A Dessert Of Bad Goodbyes.
In The Morning, She'd Hold The Small Hands That Were Always Grabbing Things They Shouldn't, And Tell Me “Baby Doll.”
“A Girl Has To Eat.”
Wasn't Well Fed Enough To Keep Her Skin And Bones, Her Silk And Gold, More Than Just Skin And Bones.
Momma Said She Was Hungry For Heart Ache.
It Was The Echo Of Her Own Voice, The Empty Callouses On Her Palms And The Way She Had Written Hell Bent Across Her Knuckles, Loved By So Many She Was Worn Out, Worn Down, Like On Old Pair Of Shoes.
She Cleaned Her Plate Every Night, Her Mouth Full Of More Teeth Than Her Jaw Could Hold.
She Told Me, After Supper, She'd Find Palm Prints That Match Her Own, But She Was Always Too Tired To Go Out Looking
There Were Street Corners, And Fish Nets, She Told Me That Were Meant For Catching Men, She Always Wore Her Skin Too Tightly, Like It Didn't Fit Her Right, Like It Had Been Handed Down To Her, From An Older Sister With Broader Shoulders, And A Thousand Watt Smile, That Her Teeth Could Never Generate.
She Told Me She Had Tasted So Many Flavors.
Said That Her Tongue Could Contort, To The Taste Of Memory. The Lavender Eyelashes Who Kept Saying Sorry, The Butterscotch Fingertips That Wouldn't Look Her In The Eyes, The Honeycomb Heart Break Whose Lips Felt Like Regret, The Cherry **** Knuckles Who Painted Her Flesh Purple Under His Palms, The Cotton Candy Wrists Who Wouldn't Stop Swearing, The Elderberry Shoulder Blades That Were Always Shaking.
I Think They Called Her Man Eater.
Capable Of Unhinging Her Jaw Like A Python, Swallowing Her Subjects Whole, It Wasn't That She Was So Hungry, It Was That She Had To.
I Think Someone Printed Prey Across Her Hip Bones, Made Her Feel Like Where Ever She Was Going, She Had To Run To, Eyes Too Big, Too Bright, Too Empty For The Planes Of Her Face, She Was Use To Being Hollow, Her Stomach, Wound Tight Around What Was Left Of Her Insides.
She Had Regurgitated Every Ounce Of Herself Back Up To Them, Stripped Down, Every Layer Of Her Skin, Until She Was Naked. Bare Like The Back She Had Carried Me On.
Her Bedroom Didn't Have A Lock On The Door. I Could Find Her Bent Over Porcelain Coffins, Emptying Out The Fill She Had Eaten That Night.
Said It Never Tasted As Good The Second Time Around.
I'd Hold Her Hair, With Small Hands That We're Always Grabbing Things They Shouldn’t, And Listen To Her Body Betray Her.
She Was Cellophane And Cheap Lip Gloss, Born Screaming, Ravenous For Rejected Remembrance, I Was Always Trying To Be Enough For Her, Shoving Home Cooked Meals Under The Bathroom Door, Said Soul Food Could Save Her, Said Sunlight Could Unshackle Her, But The Lines Of Her Body, The Road Maps Behind Her Eyelids, Said She Needed More Then Empty Calories, More Than The Taste Of Her Own Sweat.
Love Wasn't A Flavor Anyone Had Ever Fed Her.
All She Knew Was An Appetizer Of Angry Words, A Dessert Of Bad Goodbyes.
In The Morning, She'd Hold The Small Hands That Were Always Grabbing Things They Shouldn't, And Tell Me “Baby Doll.”
“A Girl Has To Eat.”
