By Matangi Mahakali
I would never ever give birth
I want my womb to be removed and turned into face masks I can freeze
I wish I got paid to bleed
My mind is stricken by lightning, so fragile
The sky parts in a hundred and twenty-four sections
Each section holds my world the same
I know my body is bound to this plane
Please…
Give me a sign
I need to know how much further I will go
I keep running away with the wind
It hurts to stay
I’ve heard there’s a way to stand still
Like the air;
It’s like a drop of dew
Who am I, and who are you?
Please…
I just want to go home…
My pubes have gotten so long
Like, actually a whole inch — I measured
I am not quite ready yet
To shatter my own psyche
Slumber is my only innocent state
I have hated the world for as long as I can remember
Why is everything beautiful so far away?
The room smells like a second-grade class eating lunch,
Sweet, like thrush
Can I even really say that’s something you did?
When no one in the reading room knows how to read?
Who am I, and who are you?
I combine alcohol with water with oil.
If this thing cancels that thing,
One thing balances another
I crave normalcy like the howling wind
Is it a blessing or a curse to hear its cry?
The world revolves precisely, like a heartbeat
Her voice hounds my ears like electronic bass
I push and push the veil of ethereal persistence
What is it about the night that makes me want to disengage?
The desert storms are drawing near
My gaze is shifting, and my vision is unclear
I lock my hair into braids
I tie sticks into a nest
If I could, like a snake, slither —
Would I writhe in or scurry out?
I am disappointed in my ability to hold onto what’s mine
Like a perfectly violet sky
Why don’t the pretty flowers stay?
The clouds part to let the rain fall
The butterfly starts the storm
If I could lick a beetle,
I would like for it to be alive
Just so I could taste its untainted force of life
Like a fire
I burn inside
When I see me, do you see you?
Please…
I just want to love
I worry about the future like I reminisce the past
I wish I knew where to go
The red fields of poppy are now covered in snow
What else can I really say beyond what’s mine?
I do not know what is in that box — it’s locked
The fallacy of the human heart
Is that it measures time in teaspoons
And the brain in ounces
Who am I, and who are you?
The salty air makes the rust grow fonder
The paint cracks underneath with falter
I know the humidity will keep me growing
Time waits for no one and heals all aging
Then why does it sometimes seem to slow
And not go where the good times go?
The sun sorts through my colloidal seams
Each page the same, each world a dream
I know I will learn to let go
And root myself where the pretty flowers grow
I am you, and you are me.
The other ants are getting ahead
The grocery store is out of bread
Each package looks the same
I want to be excused from this train
I’ll stop and stare for a while
And think of that drop of dew
I know what goes up must come down
And what is down won’t stay to drown
I’m trying to connect my brain with a line,
A circle, a curve
But these lines are drawing themselves as words
I’m watching my last breath
Sphere in
And pull toward the surface
Like it wanted to leave me
I am dying to be reborn
The stained drawing board is empty
My cracks are filled with stubborn ink
I know who I am, I know who you are
We’re not different, but we are not the same
Getting older is a bluffing game
And now again I start from scratch
The forest needed to be set ablaze
The moon goes dark just to come back again
To shine the sun on when she sleeps
And comfort the wolves and lunatic weeps
Every day must end
Every day must rise
And yet, like clockwork — like time — it tries
My heart
Has that precise beat
Not yet do I know where I will go
It’s somewhere far — that’s all I know.