Sunday, November 18, 2007


This is a poem written in the years between 13-16 when I was
struggling with unrequited love, isolation, an eating disorder and the
inability to write proper poetry.


what are you wheeling and stealing for?
why the clothes you’ll wear, the heap on the floor
the mass on the, polyester swamp grows on hardwood
scarred by fire, burnt it in frustration and loneliness such hope
I know, I know I know you tried once and the hospital stitched
your finger up as you strived to score on your own team
as you missed your cue, as you tried to reach through the glass
as you squirmed under reason, I am wrong and I know it, leave me be
trying so hard to read the lines
that aren’t yours, and you were
too afraid to ask, how foolish
you’d look, as you smeared all that makeup on the cheap what point
makeup that cost millions, the bottles and canisters and greasy little tubs
clown for him, look at me, my god just look
in bursting full pathetic glory, I am whirling, confused and drugged love
a hothouse flower of depravity and error, oh please
I am spinning for you, I am dancing without rest
beating my wings-will driven, I know, I know
out late, out late alone just a little while
wait, for the book/walk/skirt that changes it all 5 min. years
I’m a new man, I am new born my perfume, my smoke
baptism, things fall apart and meld and mend, see all these signs in the sky
full circle, fetal position I can’t breathe, I can’t, I..
I know, I know-try getting that putrid food out of your throat
it’s not tears, it’s the food your father is killing his soul to provide it
is not
tears, you are overfed, it is the food your father is killing himself to
provide is it not
Rape the mouth, a hot flood, thick as virgin blood and forgiveness, it burns
all cleans it hurts
I know.

By: Sarah Rose

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