lessons

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 15, 2018

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Submitted: September 15, 2018

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lessons

by: skye vaské

 

the first boy to ever kiss me

grasped my wrists 

the same way he gripped 

the swing when he made me 

sit on his lap.

i still have the purple indents

his fingers left

at that tender age of five.

 

his lips tasted of desire

-by far the deadliest sin-

and he did not hesitate to harvest

the honeysuckles growing 

so gingerly on my tongue.

 

his breath smelled rotten

of last night's conquests,

but i cannot blame him 

for inheriting the sins of his father,

who gorged on his mother's fruit at 2 am.

 

her fragile bones deep throated the words

her husband shoved down her neck

at the dinner table 

as if taking a plate for herself 

never occurred to her.

 

he french kissed her name

like he drained the last bottle of wine,

tongue dripping desire in the name of love. 

carving his lust into her skin,

branding his name onto her lips, 

he shattered all of her tender bones trying 

to get at the marrow.

 

as he expanded,

she contracted,

sinking under the covers,

swallowed in the mattress,

offering to him 

what little was left of her to feast on.

 

it was the first time i realized

that as i grow up, 

i must also grow in,

emptying what little love i can carry

onto my wrists for boys to suckle on,

carving out my most vulnerable pieces,

sculpting beauty out of my pain like

garnishing raw meat to make it look more appetizing,

caramelizing lies around my truths

to make them easier to swallow,

 

this is a lesson in small portions

a lesson in the most appetizing poison is laced in honey

a lesson in chiseling smiles out of my jaw

a lesson in the air at 2am always tastes more bitter in someone else's bed 

a lesson in highlighting the parts of myself i had long since forgotten existed

a lesson in backbones are not for almost-people like me

a lesson in i didn't realize how quiet silence could be.

this is a lesson in the art of disappearance

 

but i was quite mistaken in believing

that my first vanishing act 

would be my last.


© Copyright 2018 Skye Vaské. All rights reserved.

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