The Poetry Marathon

The water pours over my head,

I breathe it in

The hardness assures me that I am a  nun now And no one will question that I am pure

Written in the 5am hour but late posting!! Netflix ate my Internet connection and I didn’t notice that it didn’t post.   Sorry¡!:((

I spent my whole

life digging a grave to lie in

At each age I thought I’d reached the sixth foot,

But my dirty tired fingernails, toiling away,

Always miscalculated and now I’m

almost 22 and still digging

But I have better things to do now, than die

You are the furthest  fruit

on my thankful tree 

And you are the sweetest

You are perfect, ripe and

Juicy enough to make me hungry and thirsty for you, the same

You tell my tongue such beautiful stories

I’m outlining my halo

with a silver line

inspired by the smiles

that I’d hope to find

Initially I saw you

and Instantly I knew

that my intentions were to be born

with great words from you

I feel like a predator

But I am seemingly a lamb

your beauty is substantial-

written in the sand.

It’s been three years, I forget your hands

I forget your tattoos

I forget you

If I divorce my sadness — will someone marry my soul?  I have more love

Than any girl you’ll ever call home

I’ve never done the same puzzle twice

or once for that matter

I was always too tired,

And always much sadder

I place potential lovers into cages of my mind
they scratch numerals on bricks
to keep track of time

they usually lose it,

time is hard to catch

as am I, but a treat to watch
they eventually stop counting
and hum along the tune
and realize it’s

better here

in decorated gloom

than a life of complacency

outside of the room-

because other people would

probably cage them, too

I kissed Midas

and with that, my lips are gold-
I tried to love Medusa,

and now my heart is stone
Steadily, I stole pearls from Poseidon’s throne,

but Boreas took them – my hands, now froze
then I slept with Hades, he burnt my perfect skin-
he caressed me in his oven and taught me how to sin.
I thought I loved Atlas so I touched her tired face,
and with that she gave me

the weight of the entire human race
I was wrong in all of this – in my thievery and love

and wrong for right reasons

to make space for

the one

the irony- to be prompted to write about food.

i have barely written about anything else for years.

you’d think, i’d run out of things to say, about the very act of eating

it is necessary for my life

but still – so toxic

i say that weight is a see-saw,

i’m always on the down end,

or weight is an anvil,

and i’m crushed underneath it.

that fat isn’t a feeling,

it’s three letters, but

god, is it everything

this food-vacuum where eating sucks life from me

and all the years of bingeing, and rearranging my same self into different bodies-

i will never stop writing about food

not once

there is no greater enemy than a toxic necessity

I fill my body with food

The weight helps me forget that in life,  I was weightless

And in death, I am heavy.

And I am soaked with death

I asked people to burn for me

The flames asked if they had purpose to burn,

And I blew them out for asking.

True fire lives without a single question

It knows only to burn.