this is another lie

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

Submitted: June 01, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 01, 2013




when i was small i tried to pull a raccoon tail out of a trap and

dropped it when i saw its sticky pink flesh dripping over the teeth of

the machine. that was when i first became conscious of internal organs.

i could have sworn that if you cut me in half you'd find thick, beige

rubber and nothing else.

a few years later, i picked up a shell at the beach, and when legs

emerged from its aperture, i threw the shell violently into the mouth of

the ever-eating sea. this piece of creature didn't belong to me, either.

and even if it did, i would only lose it through a pocket-hole or seclude it

in a mason jar. it was better to leave it for the ocean, for the crusty limbs

ticking in its pearly womb, and for the uglier tongues looking to lick

it clean.

i wondered if the raccoon was eaten or merely embraced taillessness.

i became a pesticidal ghost child, i was fear and poison gas

struggling in the same vessel, oil and water brought to a frantic

boil. i imagined my bed as a preemptive casket and pretended to choke

or vomit every night promptly at 8:30-- anything to keep me off the

mattress. i wanted to climb into my mother and soak. i wanted to

preserve every part of myself until the sun and i simultaneously

expired, exhausted from keeping warm. i realized it was no great feat to

kill a person.

you must only pinpoint their existence in space; they are only a point,

a dot to be unlit. and they make it pretty easy.

when it comes down to it,

i can think of two people who will eat you.

would eat you.

and one has no arms or legs.

one is a mindsick despot.

both gave birth to themselves with little help.

so there i was, hacking coughing over the doll-carcass of death,

nudging it sullenly with my foot, half-scared it would turn over and


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