The feast began when I was eight
I remember the mildewed room
I could hear my mother down the hall
With the poisons she consumed
Laughing, oblivious

I remember the nails that grazed down my back
As i tried to concentrate on her soothing laugh
I remember trying to leave afterward
To the door, still open a crack

I didn’t dare acknowledge it
The beast cowered beneath my blanket
And hid itself from view
It’s claws that night were bloodied with my youth

The meal continued at the age of 11
Shopping at a nearby strip mall
The beasts eyes followed me through the aisles,
Hunting me, when I was still so small

Once I was cornered, it spoke to me
Loud and roaring
I recoiled back
I didn’t dare acknowledge it, I ran
and it laughed with the rest of its pack

The gourmet carried on at the age of 15
When a too familiar hand caressed my sisters leg
The only sounds that night were her screams, and then my fury
And then my beg
We had to acknowledge the beast then

The feast persisted well past maturity
And now i age day by day
I still feel their eyes
But their claws seek younger prey

I want to believe
For real

my work sprouts from the simplest indeterminate sense




                                               depicting more than verge death organisms


         freshly ground expectations are composted alongside considered
                                                                ­                                          traditions


          ­                       allowing our vigorous grip of normalcy to disperse


    changing infancy energy into visceral landscapes of amplified color




                                                       ­                                       a falling into rest





where we can blossom into our own embodied environments

I am unkissable
I am unreachable
I am semi-innocent
I am under pressure
I have an impassioned mind
I need to be taken in hand
I need to love soberly