M taught me how to hide. by displacedbody, literature
Literature
M taught me how to hide.
There used to be a little boy living here.
He had no name but they called him So.
Do you know how he died?
Oh silly you, he hasn't died yet.
So,
he was just a plastic bag filled with blood
that broke.
way up there on the hill by the shore.
We told him not to go, but he didn't listen!
What a shame.
All that blood fell into the sea.
I told his mother So
but she didn't believe me
She didn't even look!
My hands are clean and
these teeth are brand new.
I got them at the foreign shop 'coz
well i hate keeping bloody money on me.
So,
he was just a plastic bag filled with blood
that broke.
way up there on the hill by the shore
SKIN:as told by my fingertips by displacedbody, literature
Literature
SKIN:as told by my fingertips
tip tap skim smooth across the globe of your skin. Down subtle curves and fleshy crescendos, limbs silky beads of sweat- peaks.
Tentative territory of touch spontaneous
firing of synapses.
Short strokes pondered relentless breaths sharp mutterings.
Torn flesh wet with spit- no touch.
Specific, hesitant, slow and greasy.
Pressure shaped
rounded
surface, indulge in sensation and revel in attention.
I glide along memories,
hovering awareness of heat
and hair's perception.
the tiny vessels beneath me
constrict near the surface, old friend of warmth
and more memories.
I roam over deadened cells- textures intrigue and compl
I am not Bahamian right now.
But that's ok because I have a few questions:
Questions that this sudden denaturalization
Has afforded me.
Questions that only a non-Bahamian would ask
Forgive me of my ignorance…
For I am not Bahamian right now.
I want to know why my nose is flat,
just like my friend with the French last name.
I want to know why my textbook
Claims, that we all got dumped here and forgotten
I want to know why I can only spray FUCK HAITIANS across the side of my car
And not fuck tourists…
Sometimes it feels heavy
Like a pressure at the base of my neck
Those days when joint compound and sheetrock
make me squint to
BLAST.
My blood's on the dash, and the window and the floor. I closed my eyes before impact and just never opened them again. Eyes nose lips face ears tongue skin hair bones muscles fingers toes knees teeth tears wax lint stomach chest- the worn sterile fabric stretches across my midriff section and plasters my body. My back feels as if my spine has run out of fluid and the surrounding tissue is inflamed from being scraped by brittle bone. Coiled bed metal spring wired kinetic energy. Be sure to wipe your feet off on Peter's mat before you step in.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of Saints, the forgiven
"Joanie! Joanie!" sang the children of my neighborhood. It was Sunday. Noon to be exact, for that was when they usually gathered. The runts from every social unit on this block. All of them congregated in front of my house, stepping on my petunias. But I didn't really mind, or at least this is what I told myself when I rose from my rocking chair, a critical precursor of the aged, and let out a low groan. It was the stiffness in my joints that crippled my spirit, I told myself, not the incessant screams and giggles of the small army that pierced through seemingly all sides of my fortress.
Thus having correctly placed my mood I continued on to
She is sitting on the edge of her bed now. I can see her clearly, as if it is my bed she's sitting on. The room is dark save for the yellow glow creeping in from the other side of her door. It's not that late, and her parents are still up. I hear the familiar twitch and then flicker of an old friend, and now the yellow glow is not the only light source. Smoking those funny looking sticks again. "They'll be the death of you," I'd tell her, if she were in my room and not alone in hers. However, she'd only laugh at me, and perhaps light another as if to call my bluff. I see a chink in her façade though, as she gets up to snuff out that yellow gl
Make that two sugars. I tell the dark haired beauty behind the counter. Two sugars please, with a smile set to disarm. She smiles back of course, but only because she has too. She is overweight and greasy when she frowns, turning her cheeks down on their sides like dejected airbags. The sugars are not for me and she knows it, everyone at Le Corner Bistro knew that.
There was Nadine, the skinny anti-depressant. She was every bit as spry as her name implied. Bone straight hair and supple eyelashes being her positive attributes, yet she was also plagued with overpowering bone structure, which allowed her a slight sneer t
Favourite genre of music: kick-ass boo-hoo cello-rock, brechtian punk cabaret, and a few completely different scenes Favourite cartoon character: tank grrl, rylie
Tools of the Trade
subconscious
Other Interests
absolutes, substance abuse, imperfect teeth, nerds, shoes on strangers