the last blue summer i dripped
sulfur from a bottom lip
you found an eyelash
in your cheerios
and we danced
all winter
into the next blue summer
then it was rhubarb and honey
The First Man came to stab
his tongue in my mouth
i,
the very silk sheet of femininity
let him puncture inside with the chewed
embittered nails
this is a girl in holy conversion
she convulses at the right times
for dramatic effect
the blood on the bed is as christ
a symbol of sacrifice
back when men played gods
and i let them
The Second Men
are numerous skin lesions
diseases from stepping in the wrong
swamplands
they smell always of
peppercorn or gin&tonic;
their ***** sense a tenderness inside
like dogs they sniff it out
to bury it with the one large hand
that wraps around the throat every
time
that same ******* line
you like it rough you little **** like it rough
i am on my back on the bed
that rocks from him ******* into
my girlhood
i think of what my mother said when she found
the box of condoms i keep with me
"i would just hope these men care about you."
she doesn't understand
these delicate men look for women to care
about them
in the lily morning
they want to get breakfast
text me their problems
i'm the man on the sidewalk
curling my lips into each other at their texts
"what are you doing tonight?"
"hey haven't heard from you for a while"
"hi :)"
I am on my back in bed
wondering if I can hail a cab from delancey St
while he licks and ***** at my **** and I feel nothing
but I play the parts
I know my lines
and the Second Men could have done well in the spotlight
only they wanted a girl and by then I was decidely
not human
The Men
can smell it
when you've been taken before
a goodbye kiss on the cheek i grant
in a moment of kindness
and it becomes his tongue in my mouth
i am paralyzed in honesty
in the remaining threads of the docile sweetness
mom says it is feminine to be kind
that it is not a weakness
I think of this again when I am on all fours
hair pulled back by his hands
I think of it when the door closes and the other he
wouldn't take no for an answer
how many times did I tell myself
I wanted this?
every time
The Dream Men
take me in my bed
in the house with grapevines and white shutters
they stuff their hands down my throat
they **** me from all sides
I spend the dream trying to scream
and when I wake it is always sunny outside so I never feel
good about crying
Moms at the foot of my sadness
brush my hair braid it
we are in flower fields with magnets
painted lilac and baby pink
im stomping around in the garden they hush me
quiet
we are born into these love traps
these delicate sentiments
tricked to think we are heiress to sloppy emotion
but the women ring the rags
pluck the tomatos off the plants
the men see ghosts and weep
into their coffee
weep on the shoulders of their women
who lie on their backs in bed
wait for it to be over
It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts
I don't like it I don't like this
Did you come? Yes I came
Yes it's all taken care of
Is that blood? Are you okay?
Sorry I forgot I'm on the last day
You sure? Yeah It was great
I want to go again
Ok Baby
The Women
taste different
feel safer
their histories and mine are reflective
they know what it means to be taken
but their hands
do not hurt enough
don't leave behind blisters
i begin to come into someone else
never satisfied enough
to settle
to build a home
Men and their history of abusing women
Me and my history of being abused
We'll never understand each other
We'll never love each other either
The Men have taken
everything from my Women
my Grandmother barren
my Mother so close to death
I was born into the locked
door
The history of Women who stayed
tender and delicate
I am tired of being taken
