Medusa
me and my body
do not get along.
we squabble
like snakes biting
at the scalp they emerge from.
when i was nine,
the boys on the bus called me
medusa,
because i was
"the ugliest creature
in the world."
i used to wish
they were right
so i could look them in the eyes
and turn them to stone.
when i was sixteen
i learned
medusa's story all over again,
a survivor, rebelling against
the men who tried to control her
and the women who tried to blame her.
and i found solace
in knowing
that i could survive, too,
even if it twisted me
into a monster.
like medusa,
me and the mirror
are enemies,
its surface threatening
to freeze me in place.
it is wielded like a weapon
waiting for the right moment
to sever my head,
my brain leaving my body
and taking refuge somewhere far away.
i have been told
i am ugly
i have been told
i am broken
i have been told
who i am supposed to be:
a monster,
deformed, misshapen.
but it is up to me
to decide
how i use their words.
i can treat it like a mortal wound,
nurse my grievances
in the darkness of isolation.
or i can turn it around
and fight back,
turning their expectations
to stone
so they can't hurt me anymore.
Get lost
You speak of being offended by toxic positivity as you sit there in your Carhartt beanie choking down a chai latte.
As if you knew the impact of a “you should smile more.” Or “it can’t be that bad, cheer up!”
when you’ve just had your lip split open by a baseball bat. You never had blood gushing from your brow on the wet pavement or the world reject you. You have never known the courage it takes to stand up and start again with nothing but your integrity.
The worst thing that has ever happened to you was not getting exactly what you wanted from a phone call to mommy.
So yeah, fuck you and your entire facade. Trying to coin sympathy from a phrase that you could never possibly understand.
Subtle Change
Open, all is cracked,
Wispy eyes and a hushed face
quiet tears are split.
My first step towards
I call a place, nothingness,
what they call a life?
I breathe in unknown,
surrounded by the warmth, friend
cracked heart or fire ball.
My hands are worn, burnt
thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, doom
count the seconds past.
Restless heart, could stop
old, wrinkled, may skin be dry.
Pierced soul, wounded deep.