Just A Lame Poetry Blog

I want to hurt people’s feelings and have to apologize

I want to make mistakes

I want to be flawed

I want my tongue to have a purpose other than preaching

I want to own my hands, not just be a tool for the heavens

I want to taste blood and earth and sugar and cinnamon

I want to have a fate not written in stone

Oh Angels above

Do you ever tire of being not your own?

Do you dream of being more than just a vessel?

Perhaps that’s why Adam ate of the tree

Perhaps that’s why eve allowed him to

What good is perfection if you can never be less?

What good is good if you can never fail?

Sometimes I dream of the humanity robbed from sainthood

Sometimes I wish I could just be what came before

Everything’s just numbers and patterns to you

Give me the formula that’ll make me enough

Haunted by this funhouse mirror

I hope deep down that that’s not me

I only wish that I could see her

I don’t wanna look anymore

Tired of seeing what I knows not true

I wanna get better, wanna fight those lies

But I don’t know how I’m gonna get through

Somehow someway they love that me

Somehow someway I’ll get her out

Somehow someway I’ll get free

Your hand on my hand on your waist on a quiet park bench Saturday evening

Words do not describe how sweet this moment is

I do not.

Four months into the relationship

He paints a picture of cherubs bouncing on his knees, a mom-and-dad-and-baby in a big house

I see an operating room, masks and scrubs swirling through a blood tinted fog

Painkillers, but not quite enough to numb

Because no really, she’s just being dramatic

He dreams of a warm bundle of joy swaddled in innocence

I think of stitches that will be placed against my consent, of thread used to ensure

My innocence is maintained

My tightness is maintained

My husband’s pleasure is maintained while he’s inside me

He fantasizes about blood (mine has already been spilt so many times), about passing on a legacy

I think of the wounds my mother inflicted on me, and her mother inflicted on her

(Where does it end?

I know I can be better

But will it be enough?)

Yes there’s daycare yes there’s epidurals yes there’s antidepressants yes there’s pumps yes I’m sure you’ll be a great dad but

I think of all the people who have come before me.

People who gave up everything

People who were expected to give up everything

(I am just a mother I am just a mother I am just a mother I am just a mother I am just a mother please god let me be more than just a mother)

Go ahead, try and take all I am.

Try to suffocate me with petals and thorns.

Try to make me into something palatable

Something pretty

Something easy-to-swallow.

The kind of cold that seeps into your bones

The kind that doesn’t seem to leave, no matter how many hot showers you take.

Usually, on days like this, I’d pull on your sweater and watch the first movie we ever saw together.

Not today.

Today I wrap myself in the blanket I bought when I first moved out of my parents’ house, the blanket that has seen me through exams and stress and studying and heartbreak and resentment and resilience

blue and fuzzy and warm and threadbare

I can keep myself warm.

The blue and yellow one

The one that matches yours

I spend hours knotting them, curled up in front of the TV, hands held under the table at dinnertime

I even used to work on them during late night calls with you

Threads positioned just outside the view of the camera

When I gifted the matching set to you at Christmas, you asked if there was symbolism to them

Of course, I said

But didn’t know how to explain it

A year ago I would have cried

Would have taken it as some divine omen

Did I not tie them tight enough?

Should I have used a different pattern?

Maybe the spools were too old

Did I wear it too often?

Mine was on my wrist almost every day

A talisman, a reminder of you by my side

Yours sat on your bedside table

Did I make it too big?

Was it not the right size?

Should I have asked you before making it?

Or did it greet you every night before you slept?

You told me you loved it

Gave me a great big hug

And carried around the keychain I had also made for you in your pocket

A year ago I would have cried

A year ago I would have thought it meant we were doomed

Instead, I pulled out my sewing kit

The stitches didn’t quite match, but it still reminded me of you

You can only lose heat

Never get cold

And I think that’s where we fell apart

I gave you all my warmth

My breath

My love

Your smile makes your eyes sparkle and crinkle at the sides, and it’s like the whole world has taken a long needed breath

You taste like summertime, like growth and green and strawberries great from the vine.