party

she bit the inside corner of her mouth as the party raged on,
the din elicited a certain confidence by drowning out the pauses,
constant chattering and laughter.
it made her relax her mechanical posture to sub-marionette levels,
it shaved her trachea without ever touching a scalpel,
her voice pitch perfect.

she burned the dress,
she burned the house down,
with hips like ka-pow
they made a mess.

and in the morning there were no closets left to hack to pieces,
there was a pile of people delighting in their differences,
and/or similarities.
it made her punch that card one last time before leaving,
it freed up precious days and hours over a lifetime,
to not have to try.

he made her cry,
but in a good way this time,
each giving permission
without asking why.

and i awoke to hammering inside my delicate little head,
i threw on whatever clothes may have fit me (or not),
and got the fuck out of dodge.
do i lie to myself every day like we all do, or is it
that i just lie to you or let you sort out the clues?
releasing the mystery.

i put it all out there,
my novel written backwards,
because i somehow survived
which is wholly unfair.

mother's day

i spent so long
trying to be anything but her
without realizing what was good:
my ferocity
my pluck and passion
and my soft sloping shoulders all came from her.