Free poetry and other fun things.
Give me muscles, or else I’ll make them
myself out of this anger rising
from my throat and bubbling to my skin
like disease I cannot contain any longer.
This is how you make me feel, like some
thing blighted, broken and abnormal.
I rear back my head, thrust my pink
tongue to the sky, make it ugly for you.
I want to hurt you. I want to offend.
I know you’ll laugh, and it will feel like
a slap to my jaw. You think I can’t, think
my strength seems soft as cotton, spongy
as exposed innards. You think I’m sweet,
candied to cloying, a thing to grab and put
in your mouth until I’m chewed to a pulp
and used up. You’re wrong.
I will adorn this body with scars, twist it
until it is sharp, maul it into weaponry.
I will become the fist and gun and bomb
that you have used against me since
the day I was born in this woman’s body.
If you find the tenor or shape of my words
unappealing, know that you have made me.
Thank you. I will use all this against you,
and you will not see it coming.
--excerpt from forthcoming poetry collection.