there have been battles inside my chest but I did not dare to fight them
I have attempted
to starve out the demons
but they simply succeeded
in starving me
I have seen my bones
not from X-rays
through my own skin
I have viewed each rib
I have felt the hallow space
where love used to go
and it has pounded
like a drum inside
I have listened
as the lion roar of self disgust
wooed the whimper of hunger
and won
I have heard the warnings
the foolishness of this
and finally instinct took over
I am not still so thin
I have done all these things
yet before you convinced me
I had never
seen my own beauty before
Insomniac
Eyes of cotton between blinks and
mind draped with dirty rag cloth made
of fraying edges.
My words are being siphoned
down a drain of debilitating fatigue
and creative exhaustion.
I’ve switched from fountain pen
to keyboard because my handwriting
makes me seem like a tenured
college professor.
I’ve considered dropping the effort
and picking up a book but
the words aren’t painting their
vivid pictures and I’d rather not waste
a good plot on when I’m semi-conscious
and completely brain dead.
My bed is cat-calling and wolf-whistling
every time I pace by the headboard
and I eye the velvety fleeces
with something close to lust.
Insomnia dangles me awkwardly in that
tiresome place between longing for sleep
and being invigorated by a stream
of half-formed thoughts and thoroughly
muddled contemplations.
As they tumble and riot for attention
in the prison of my skull every muscle
in my body is groaning with annoyance
and chanting in choral a cappella:
“Go to sleep, dumbass.”
Body talk
Right this minute, my body, like a king size mattress crammed into a carrier bag is hurling abuse at me from every orifice.
It is telling me I am a wastrel, a dullard, a sac of secreted pus and a dim witted old faggot, a complete and total waste of space.
My body is not what it once was. My skin, once taut and smooth now sags in great folds that follow me about.
My musculature, once honed to perfect proportion now dangles from my skeleton, limp and powerless.
My heart, once a powerful engine that drove me to great physical achievement, now stutters and hesitates, kept in reluctant rhythm by my doctors prescribed medication.
My senses, once honed to a sharpness unrivalled in human development, now flicker like a light bulb worn to its final, meagre output.
I desperately cling to the fading memory of what I once was as I slowly trudge to my inevitable demise, hoping against the odds that by some miracle I might produce writing of some merit before finally sliding into oblivion.
An Open Letter
There are places
under clothes
where I have
expanded, and I feel as if
I am suffocating
inside blankets of poly-cotton
and 2% spandex,
but I have never
not bulged,
not once in my life;
I don't know why you're suddenly
surprised by it.
You have scratched raw the skin
of our thighs, made bloody
holes in the surface
with my own
fingernails,
and I am tired of being
my enemy.
I dread the mirror more than you do.
I take you out,
I walk you up mountains
and endure the torture of
high-heeled shoes,
I dance for you when you
want me to,
it is my arms with which you
embrace
the ones you care for,
my lips that facilitated your
first real kiss but it was you
who fell in love.
It was me he laid his hands on
every evening.
It was I who grew short of
breath with his touch.
Maybe that is why
you cannot love me.
Me
Love me. Love you. Regardless of the fact that you could lose a couple of pounds you are perfectly fine. If you think you aren't good enough, think again. You have a loving boyfriend that finds you irresistible and would do a number of things to you if he could. Never feel ashamed of yourself or of me. We are beautiful threw and threw. So love me. Love you.
If my body talks
You pay attention to me too much, stop being so hypersensitive, I'm just digesting some Doritos. Oh and don't worry about this little pudge around your tummy, everyone has that. Oh and please don't hurt me again, it was hard to fight off those germs from that old razor. Treat me right, even though your brain is telling you to die.
Together
One day, the body said to the soul, "Do you love me?"
The soul sighed. "I suppose. But you could change in a few ways. You could be a tad thinner, you could be somewhat taller. Your nose could shrink and your eyes grow a bit bigger. If you did those things, I think I could truly love you."
"Oh no, that's all wrong," the body said, shaking its head sadly. "Love is not those things! Do you love somebody just for who they are on the outside?"
"No," said the soul.
"So why treat yourself that way?"
The soul nodded, and let the body continue.
"Instead of thinking what I could be," it said. "Think of what I am. I am yours. I dedicate my life to you. When everyone else is gone, you'll only have me. I watched you grow up, I watched you learn, I watched you change. I was there for all of that. I know you better than anyone else, dearest soul."
"This is true..." said the soul.
"No need to look sorry!" said the body. "All you must do now is take care of me."