Cocktail

I am many people.
My amorphous identity defended by multi-headed Hindu Gods
relinquished to the speculative distance between your censorious interpretations and my own mythical representation.
Each face bespoken to indulge your palate;
I am a potent cocktail of stirred spirit selves, giving you the heady rush you need to swallow me.


My Heart

This heart is more pain than pleasure; more villain than victor
Thriving in the breath of ashes gathered from burning time in all the places we don’t fit.
But it’s the only one brave enough
To navigate in the dark beyond right and wrong to meet our dream in a sky we can’t see
To taste fire in the beautiful chaos of an almost lover’s absinthe lips of apocalypse
To pick poison after poison to feel alive
And still survive.


I’ve Been a Mother

I’ve been a mother since before my milk teeth fell out; broken marriage cavities drilling bull’s eyes in a mouth primed for extractions.
Permanent teeth hacking a premature rite of passage with the diseased pulp from a butcher named divorce because there’s no room for a child when the grown ups turn juvenile mocking disinfectant.
Young gums bleed less; learn even more quickly to clean up their own mess (and yours).
I’ve been a mother since you entrusted your mental health to dreams that died with a crude dissection of my hemorrhaging heart to stand on eggshells by your side.
I’ve been a mother since your Freudian slip displaced your misplaced affection in my swollen hips like weeds that grow in cracks.
But how do you ultimately kill a mother?
Do you suckle her soul right out of her breasts?
Do you grow too large for the space in her heart to stretch her womb (beyond its elastic limit) instead?
Do you coil/snake her umbilical cord back around her own neck?
Is it akin to killing a god?
Cause I swear I’ve been one every single time except for when the child was biologically mine.


Dear Body

Dear body,
I have
used you, abused you ,
paid penance in blood for every morsel of affection you dared to consume
malnourished and stunted my potential to feed your cosmetic debut,
inflated my pride with the uneven heaving breath of unchaste rendezvous
fractured the (pelvic) bones of your permanent home to make femur fantasies come true
conceived and carried validation (to full term) for being worthy in your womb
pumped you with oxytocin to induce contractions to deliver my real issues,
declared you unfit; leveling the playing field with my dominant demons in exchange for your submissive shades of black and blue,
And if that wasn’t enough
thrust you into the lights to fight for your life when you asked me what to do
Dear body,
You’ve persisted in standing by me.
Maybe it’s time I stood by you too.


Trophy

What did you fall prey to?
Was it the ruthless force of her love,
that removed the oxidation
from your wounded ego with its alchemy?
Or her carnal prowess that pummeled your dented hopes back to their former glory?
Did her eyes dissolve your scars and her climax lacquer-coat your soul’s inner beauty?
She buffed your broken to a mirror-like luster like many before you and you beamed with pride on the mantle by her side.
A restored trophy you must be
but you shone just so she could see
the face of her own hollow ringing victory.