This is where I bear myself for you to see.
This is where the sleeves slither off and uncover
My covered scars. Constellations on a teenage arm,
Mapped by past pain reconfigured into present distress.
Ugly trophies made for naked eyeballs to savor.
This is where I find a strip of skin on my wrist
That unravels me like a mummy,
And my cold snake skin piles up at my feet
As I stare at the only thing left underneath.
This is where I'm not afraid to be, not me,
Just to be. I'm always afraid to be me.
I step out of my bones and let them crumble.
Then I kick them around like flotsam on the shore
Of a town where widows still look out to sea
For their foggy, lost lovers.
This is where I confess my sins and my uncertainties.
I have things inside me, worms made of ink
Slinking slowly up the inside of my arteries
And clogging what was sweet.
I pull sentences out of my throat and gag.
Paragraphs lag in the diaphragm.
This is where the world still doesn't make any sense,
And the sense of shame washes me away.
I watch people become ampersands,
And I don't get them at all.
This is where my body and my mind disagree
On what exactly they want, while my soul sustains itself
On bread crumbs and Bible verses.
Do I have to scream to get someone to notice me? I will.
I'll scream, throw lamps, chew through plaster.
I'll take this house apart board by board
If it pours even one tiny sliver
In my hard, hard heart.
Grew a sad man from a sad boy, taught him everything I knew.
This is where I unhinge.