I rained and rattled the roof but no one will let me in.
Come decorated in rusted ornaments, vacated from the clothes
and I will not let myself in. I’ve been wearing but it fit less
like a paper doll and more like wearing myself thin. What
words can sell, I cannot sell it. What voices can pray for, I cannot
influence it. 1990: stop the river flow as it cried for living. 2012:
open up the dam, damn it, disquiet yourself for living. By the
bedside, empty paper cups drank the spit of others drew illustrations
alive on the floor, and I still cannot find the one with my lip stain.
Lips cracked as I thirst for a louder self. My arrows do not shoot
their hearts but stabbed my heels repeatedly. Staccato beat. The
heart is a fraction of disappearance. I do not recognize other fractions.
This head is empty of my belongings, my hands broke into
handlebars of lost luggage; young luggage traveling into stillbirth conversations.
No souvenirs. I’ve tried bringing souvenirs but I will never reach home.
Stories turned into ashes at home. I’ve tried wearing them inside
out but believe me, no one will buy it. Not even for free.
____________________________
I’ll try again.
