Slow was the first pulsation of this heart but fast would its thrum be through life. Mother read in the stars on the chart that we were to embrace you as eventide embraces the light that is soon to depart. You unsettled us with the fixated yellow grin: we knew sanity and your smile were apart from the moment you held the bluntest knife and set into mother’s skin a most demonic art.
Stumble and dive we just turned five - each of us hold a balloon. Run down the hall stumble and fall - scraping our knees before noon. Slide on some socks build static shocks - zapping each other with grins. Act like a brat slide on the mat Carpet burn stings on our shins. Wearing our shoes nothing to loose we call out our parents bluffs We ruin the lawn now wearing a yawn - our memories sketched in shoe scuffs
Student b e l i e v e s teacher
Student q u e s t i o n s teacher
Student c h a l l e n g e s teacher
Momma told me not to run with scissors Lest I pluck out my own eyes With the rounded tip of the blade. But she needn’t have feared impaling For the glittered edge could split reality Into newer categories of felt or unfelt, Processed or compartmentalized in boxes That are to be continuously mislabelled And indexed under different triggers. Momma told me not to run with scissors Lest I pluck out my own eyes With the rounded tip of the blade. But she needn’t have feared impaling For the glittered edge was a siren That promised to multiple your mark By severing the ties to reality a little more. Knowing the hook was catching enough To long for a longer, deeper verse. Momma told me not to run with scissors Lest I pluck out my own eyes With the rounded tip of the blade. But she needn’t have feared impaling For the glittered edge was a safety blanket Bound in bumps of gentle grip polypropylene. Soon substituted for safe preschool variety In the same clear polyvinyl therapy pencil case As the steel screw fit pencil sharpener.
Before the monster could harm me Great jaws rose from the depths And swallowed him whole. I peaked through the gaps in my fingers But I didn't scream, I wasn't scared, For the dragon had eaten my predator.
Images move animatedly across the tv screen, Sounds are blended into the background noise, The foreground filled with heavy breathing, The satiation of pleasure between two, Summed up by title of ‘Netflix and chill.’ The sequel, a follow up on two series merging, Finally born, gendered by the pink onsie, The gentle curves of tassels and bows, And the growing basket of perfectly painted, Single expression, pose-able dolls. Years of playing courting, marriage, Nuclear house, one ken, one barbie, and baby, Of traditionalism imposed in playtime, destroyed. The babe who once played with dolls, Becomes the doll in the tent playing with her bae. Within a flash, the two are married, Both taking and barrelling their surnames, Living equal in their roles, life, and love, Until the hourglass is empty, And the grieving hold their umbrellas in the rain.
She disgusts me, She boils my blood, She makes sick, She makes me hate. Her poisoned womb made you love her, Made you believe she's the best in the world, Made you blind to all her faults, Made you favour her always. She angers me, She grinds my gears, She makes me miserable, She makes me hurt. Her poisonous personality put you in danger, Neglected to keep you safe when it mattered Made you endure this suffering, Made you feel you couldn't speak up. She makes me cry, She makes me seethe, She makes me depressed, She is despicable. Her poisoned childhood has ruined yours, Made you vulnerable because she's sick, Made you prey to her predator, Made you victim to her selfishness. She disgusts me, She boils my blood, She makes sick, She makes me hate. But, She fucked up, She made you hurt. So, I'll pick up the pieces, I'll keep you safe, I'll give you joy, I'll show you love.
The Poet Armistead 