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Literature
other people's heartbreak
fifteen year old father,
and he can't uncrumple the dollar bills for the automatic teller machine
where the bamboo walls
girls veiled in smoke,
thin-strap tank tops
the click and hiss of a soda can
she miscarries in the basement on a hot summer night,
the dregs of her uncle's offspring draining from her in hemorrhagic spurts,
her fingers bruising on the unsheeted mattress
mom and pop wake to a phone call from the county coroner
he is blue from the lake water and green from the nausea
and grandma knits afghans, over
and over
and
over
Literature
biopsy
put me under, cover my face, stuff my lungs with your chemical lies.
if they were to take me apart,
slice open my chest,
peel back the skin keeping me whole,
they would find:
a. one heart, slowly ticking.
(they would not find anything,
but they would have to say they did.
after all, girls can't live without a heart.
they forget that i'm not the first:
a score of girls walking even though
they should have faded long ago.)
b. each rib curved so perfectly,
a shield around my lungs.
(a cage, keeping my breath from bursting
out of my skin. know that this is just me,
held together by nature,
unable to lose control of myself.)
c.
Literature
Church
She has never orgasmed because every man who has touched her never meant a thing. And she has panic attacks because she never wants anyone to be inside her again or try to love her again because something is broken, impossible to mend.
The holy water is never in her reach when she needs it.
She fills her lungs with smoke as if to suffocate, to smother her brain so she doesn't have to exist. She confesses her sins to paper because she's afraid of priests and judgment and reconciliation.
Since everything ended the sign of the cross is more intimidating than swallowing the pills. She hasn't been on a proper diet, hasn't had the bread or t
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This is absolutely beautiful. It's incredibly sexy, of course, but I was more caught by the slight thread of unease in the last stanza. Congrats on your DLD!