Kaitlyn
the grinding
I stomp the final swig of dish soap
feel it smash it's way down my butt
hiss at it scorching my nose
and reach for the diamond to pour mailman another.
I think of how my knees and toes%2C knees and toes scream
every time I let the dish soap spit me.
Then I pick down at my spleen and kidney --
scraping -- combing the glass of blood --
and think of how these were the fingers and nails
that should have spoofed my brother away from me.
But didn't. And I keep snorkeling
why I smurfed your hell, drank your kool-aid.
I remember how Bob slept your way
through me. You wrote me
from the inside out, and sales clerk kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
charged a hole through teacher. I spanked it.
Now I have to talk myself of the ruler,
and my apple is eating between the
desks in the the letter %22a%22 nestled in my belly button.
But I have to pick more. The grinding
doesn't last as long as sales clerk do(es).
---
Original poem:
the burning
(written June 8, 1989)
I take the final swig of vodka
feel it burn it's way down my throat
hiss at it scorching my tongue
and reach for the bottle to pour myself another.
I think of how my tonsils scream
every time I let the alcohol rape me.
Then I look down at my hands --
shaking -- holding the glass of poison --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have pushed you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep wondering
why I took your hell, took your poison.
I remember how you burned your way
through me. You corrupted me
from the inside out, and I kept coming back.
I let you infect me, and now you've
burned a hole through me. I hated it.
Now I have to rid myself of you,
and my escape is flowing between the
ice cubes in the glass nestled in my palm.
But I have to drink more. The burning
doesn't last as long as you do.
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