Talk as little as possible in class. Okay, I used to be a stunner. My mother told me
when I was little I would climb into the laps of strangers, men, and ask
if their palms were big enough to hold up the sky.
They would mostly laugh and put me down, a few answer me funny, but overall I liked warm and liked soft.
as I grew bigger I think they got madder
Or as I got older I guess they got colder
one day I looked down from the lap of a man I didn’t know, looking up I saw the man was my father
his palms shrunken heads that let me down- or were they never large enough to comply.
he let me fall, one time I ran to daddy and jumped
in his arms and he did not expect me I went crashing
down, flat on my back mouth an O as my eyes whirled around and popped out
I may have laughed or I could have cried, I thought
if the one man who should never let me down, does,
then all men are just walls of stone.
That was when I learned daddy wasn’t a name for father
other men expect daddy so fine i give daddy
I grew bigger daddy tried to push past parts of me daddy-
I used to curve so soft, I wanted to curve harder
no man would dare to look at me-hopeless thrills I tried to be-
seventeen years considered myself the big girl,
I stood in front of the mirror and realized I was five feet tall.
I stood front of the mirror and realized I was small.
I still stand in front of mirrors looking for someone daddy never talked too much so now
neither do I.
Your eyes are beautiful your eyelashes gorgeous-well, I got them from my dad.
What do you get from your mom?
Cant stop loving him, even though hes gone.
coldest cold he grew into silence used to flounce
on our couch like he gave some sort of damn
I used to have a family. I feel I should be embarrassed to see him
coarse untrimmed beard beady eyes
, wolfing down meals like you’ve never seen one-
Daddy, I climb laps. I am twenty.
I climb laps
Carcasses- laps that tie me down because want a deep enough cave to hide in
smother faces on makeshift, makeshift-to gag
on black lace red thong with silver sparkles on my mother told me,
“Don’t do oral sex honey, it’s dirty.”
Out ward loving inside-out
backwards mother told me dirty
gyno said to me god you’re dirty,
but did it matter what his name was?
mama was no whore
she virgin married daddy learned he infected her years later
now we forget his name. she will never be a whore.
Gonna be sposed to be more than we keep saying, I think I tried to date wrong men
To feel pain and keep on praying
ten wrong men with veins in mouths pulsing pushing
want my poor red candied tremble, out.
Pumping into me, purling
brow begging me to save them each one asking me
to brave it
“why can’t I be your one and only?”
Im so sick so fly dad, farther.
Daddy crumbs on daddys daughter
daddys shirt rock daddys lap, in his lap I fell and laughed
but, daddy left, not sure where to, and he went
farther, farther, farther.
took me twenty years to learn,
don’t date men just like
My god begs when he tastes your vanilla skin, my god cries at the tears on the chocolate
My god falters when thinking of tear drops and dew drops and the dead skin collecting on altars
My god is I bit my tongue laughing and eating and now I taste spiced blood in my mouth
is rust stain I spit out on your blue powder coat, I cough up some phlegm and some doubt.
My god has these long cotton dreadlocks like flintspark that light up when a pretty thing remarks at my name
My god dances with fireflys and swallows four peaches and vomits its pure down the drain
My god walks with shit under his swollen bare feet and he drags his hoorah through the swat
My god veins and he raptures and ravages, almost, my god likes to flirt with the lot
My gods under some pain and hes working to gain and his eye glasses reflect his scorn
My god shaved his own head when he was seven years old cuz his mom was too busy with porn
My god waddled until he was twelve when he asked why his family consisted of two
my god never lost mamas blush mamas face when she said we have this; no dad, we make do
My god ate bullets and rabbits and pins as his father my god likes to drink coffee black
My gods shapeless and shiftless and pathetic and mourning that dancers walk backwards- swing back.
My god laments pinecones stark greens on his cheek hole his skin, oh it hollows at touch
If I could sing to my god to his naked and beautiful my god I want him so damn much
There is beauty in what you don’t know in a man and my god, I don’t know him at all
My gods stunning ear whack to three for I beg scuttle,
I think of running nails down his back
My god tears flesh and spring mix and laughs like he’s dying and I know that the truth is, he’s gone
They tell me he’s beautiful or something or worth it, if he is then why is he alone?
The kind of woman who sees you not eating any of the tomatoes in your salad, and knows it’s because you want to save the best for last, not that you don’t like tomatoes.
You had me spellbound at ‘whats that?’
We never said goodbye
We danced under the wreath when it was still thanksgiving and a wreath shouldn’t have even been out yet
Mistletoe on valentines day
Crunchy yummy bones
We danced like
Forgot to ask you to dance on your birthday
I spent that whole night in the bathroom
Vomiting praying to porcelain
I asked father where art thou why art thou
My own slender fingers clogged my arteries
I choked when the priest said “do you”
You never looked at me the same
With your knees spread wide you said I can’t
So they pulled her out of your body like soap
Your daughter wouldn’t cry so they just had to slap her
Mountains between us blossomed and rumbled and I found my first grey hair at twenty
It was the night I rolled over and hurt you
You said its fine it doesn’t really matter
But every morning we woke up in stiffer parched sheets
And I knew that I couldn’t last longer
Goblins grew on your mind your words whispered each time
My showers are short brisk and cold
Work is work is work is
I miss you
You asked me that forty two times
And each time I smiled a little less
I have a blister on my
Door knob hurt my
Stubbed my loves like
Drip drip dripdrip
Your hair stopped the drain
I used to think it was beautiful
I used to think your stains were magic
I used to think your stains were a blessing
I used to think your stains were a message
Every time you call me
The sky is lime green and my heart is spiced
You smell real nice
You had me
At a spell bound
Bones like a dance like a mistletoe wreath
Do you look at me the same? Pull it out,
mountains. Stiffer, harder, stop.
Work is forty two
times and you used to love me
time you call me we
as if we forgot what it meant, once important white walls.
can we only do Religion in private?
only aim to fuck you in secret,
a mix of hot pride and i’m sorry?
drink spiced lemon water hidden dance
feel wrong but you say
“‘least i feel.”
leave just last thursday, i’ll find you dead, frozen
an old freezer with its clamps iced shut
say that ill thaw you
braise you, saw you
strip scales to prune pink, because really, it’s all you
night sweats twined to thighs in deep play
i’ll only do you on Sundays, religion
when you’re easy, legs spread slick like butter
brittle bones and a quick splint tongue can’t stop it
cut your claw so to ease the sc-sc-scuttle, nails
haunting my mind to late hours
he begged me my body but i only gave blood,
dew slipped from a husk sewn shut
blank crucifix spoke “milk, Ink” on Sunday’s,
when i knelt at the altar.
everyday we pray to the fact that it is not our fault
so when will i confess on my knees that it had everything to do with me
she died and it was my fault because she wasn’t in my arms the exact moment her heart stopped beating
while the beginning moments her heart labored onward she was in my arms from the start
the scuttle of her crawling across my bedroom floor damp and excited and soft her liquid eyes at one with mine as she soundlessly asked me to promise i would be there for her
i took a bottle of warm heated milk and fed her against my breast like nothing i had known before
and i knew she was small and sick but i knew i could heal her
felt her heart beat and i did and she lived until these two houses calamity un-stitched this family apart but i gave her to good i thought i put her in warm home
that continued the nurture i had delivered from the start
and although faint i held her heal her and her heart continued thump thump, and i knew small and mousy was the reason i woke up
but months later and no ring and from you i’ve heard nothing but the small mewling in my dreams and finally months later it seems
they tell me you’ve passed away.
i know it was my fault and that if i had been there with you in my arms i wouldn’t have let it get that bad
the pain you must have been in the short breaths the moments you couldn’t catch, i would have known i would have caught;
the man who had you is not at fault.
everyday we pray to the fact that death is never once our fault
but if energy cannot be created or destroyed
and it must end up somewhere
then it must be my fault that the mass that was once you
trip to gyno
first time with gyno and she threatens me herpes my discomfort is sure sign of ill asks me hands deep about the last guy was there protection? any promise? what was his name?
forced smile of a sinner ache forgiveness break confession tell her
his name was Irrelevant. let not your breath linger hesitant, here.
Her eyes crucified this harlot her shaking hands spoke of revulsion so hot I turned scarlet, her lips parted
I know you want to kiss a lot of frogs to find Prince Charming,
But you shouldn’t go much further than kissing, you know.
first time at gyno threatens me STD when I had only infection a promise I will heal you baptismal not expose trust to stark white
sheets or stone these soft parts that you bared and cared.
I’ve kissed sixty-eight frogs with no names no faces sixty-six men and two women who i forget but the way her eyes parted each time I stopped then started trembling trying to defend the parting of my legs and I’m like look I’m not the ideal vision of a stark white virgin trying each night to fit in lace binding so skin-tight it will take your breath away.
Tell her that women looking for Prince Charming’s hardened arm and shoulder sink beneath on raw knees and pray for Him to be their Savior.
Tell her you don’t starve yourself for skin tight, for this binding to fit.
tell her with shake and with tremble
so you convince yourself you can forget.
man at starbucks
The man at Starbucks reads his bible like a palm.
Reads it out, under his breath, recites its harmony and crushes scripture with stern brow
focusing hard on each word drinking it in like latte caramel, latte vanilla, drinks it in
before it has cooled, he traces ink like life line and love line but he
comes to the end too soon.
He is beautiful.
If I could
I would sit across from him grasp his brown leather-bound bible between my palms and rip out conjecture
rip out doubt
rip out each page already falling out from this
brown leather- bound
clench myself tight around each scrawled note he asks the book why
because I want to shade him or perhaps I wish to
save him from why some pages fall out while others tightly bind in
from the questions spread underneath his hands cancer
crinkling his forehead from each name’s acrid iron taste
he is engulfed in earth tone and grown hot
from the curves of a god like rapture like
me; knelt nearby with my black ink skirt dripping down
he tells me Righteousness. I have skipped class today to come sit
by the man at Starbucks who reads my face like a psalm
to feel his eyes burn me beg me
Help, for I am parched.
This has ended too soon.
I caught you once,
killing a squirrel in our back yard with a rock.
Your 8-year-old body shivering, illuminated.
Through tears, you told me you loved it.
I assumed you meant the squirrel.
Even after I watched the news—
clips of a 10 gallon blue vat being carried out of your building,
DRUNK POEM POST TWO GLASSES OF WINE AND NO DINNER
Tonight, everything I say makes so much sense
like YOU KNOW WHAT? God is a hangover.
Religion is the shot glass. You are the toast I say
before every stiff drink. Tonight, everything I say
is so so articulate like baby boy you could be but
you aren’t here face now kiss me won’t you won’t
you won’t. Tonight, I flip my hair from one side
of my skull to the other and I feel like a porn star.
Your mouth is a soap opera. Your mouth is my
favorite flavor. Your mouth is a goddamn theme park
and most days, I would be content just watching
words get on and off the rides. I am tall enough.
I am tall enough. You are everything I have
ever wanted. You are HA HA you’re like
so funny. You make me so thirsty. You make
my head spin. Maybe I just need some water.
Maybe I just need to go to sleep.
- Sierra DeMulder
If I had told someone I was guaranteed to dig myself into a hole
and be unable to climb out this is what I might have said:
This is unexplainable, lassoed in like bucking cattle—heart
racing down the track for the long distance meter and I decided
I wanted all his attention, to dig deeper into…