Loud Butterflies
they seem to think it's quiet,
a feather to blow away, brush
from my skin; but it's gaudy purple
eyeliner and screamo billowing inside
out of me. the needle slides
right in between my ribs and plugs
the air up. my lungs took
the pinch on the cheek with a lopsided
taffy grin—ready to snap back
into place. beeline for the counting
tiles corner (i make them dance, you know:
my very own telekinesis). color me
red then blue and watch
my throat rise to the surface until
it splinters and all the songs whistle
out, wind through cracked ceramics. do you
see the fractures where i tripped
on the scales?