I talk about my perky *******
To the forks in the silverware drawer
And they look back at me metallicly
They want me to leave them alone.
A chest that curves out parabolically
Like a cat's cheeks
And some mouse has come along
And nibbled away at me, my leaves
Have been devoured by garden pests,
By nibbling slugs
I throw pennies at them.
But that does not replace what
Should have been, where the holes are,
Leaving me disproportionate.
I hold my tattered figure by its wounds
And we wail in pain
My ribcage, too small, contorts the howl
Into a soft, secret sob, a silent whimper.
The sound an animal when it knows
That nothing can de done
That its suffering will not be alleviated.
The pathetic sound of self-defeat.
A mourning of lost things I never had.
The lonely side of heaven, of freedom,
Of having nothing to lose,
Is seeing nothing worth gaining.
It's been 18 years
And I can finally move my toes
I move them independently,
In spite of the pain from muscle atrophy.
It's been 36 years, and I can finally free
My body, I can bare my chest,
I can move my arms.
I can open my jaw, loosened
From its tight and rusty position,
Locked in place to optimum howl.
All my arthritic hinges and joints swing
With an euphoric exhilaration.
I devour mice and slugs and garden snails
And sometimes me, too.
I count my ribs every morning,
To see if I've grown any more.
Under my limp and slimy skin, they shine
With a metallic luster.
I have found something new to talk about.
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