other people's clothes
this is something I regurgitated off the top of my head at 1 am because my brain keeps constantly and obsessively looping a reel of the words of others instead of writing my own
In my dream, you crack me open and run your thumb across me like the wound I am. Home is the first grave. I exist— in thousands of agonies, I exist! You, murderer— who remembers you? Something terrible is happening inside of me. I cannot see their faces, who is foreign and who native. I miss you more than I remember you. I thought we were born of violence, but I was wrong, ma, we were born of beauty. My life was a tiny narrow corridor with no doors leading off it, a tunnel so narrow it bruised my elbows. What a long way I’ve come, I thought— to be destroyed! One day I’ll weep for this. You forfeit the only life you know or go to the grave with the song curled inside you. There she is, she’s wet concrete gone hard, full of dents, reshaped into this thing. Jesus can always reject his father, but he cannot escape his mother’s blood. I’m just a child but I’m not above violence. I’m the cunt you married; the only time you liked yourself was when you were trying to be someone this cunt might like. All life, to sustain itself, must devour life. Our mothers call us brutes when they want us to feel bad— it’s what they call men they do not like, like our dads. I talk to god, but the sky is empty, and Orion walks by and doesn’t speak. God is the horrible silence of everything. God made everything out of nothing, but the nothingness shows through. Cubitum eamus? Beauty is terror; whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. Treat me right, I’m still a good man’s daughter. When I became a man, I put away childish things. Have you ever killed something good just to be certain you’re the reason you can no longer have it? I know nothing, Oliver! If only you knew how little I know about the things that matter. Raise the roof beam high, carpenters! Like Ares comes the bridegroom, taller far than a tall man.