creatureseason

[creatureseason]

reach into my rib cage

craft me into your experimental work of art

root around in the cavity and feign surprise

when you pull out a hemorrhaging heart

[creatureseason]

- @creatureseason <3

[creatureseason]

you took ahold of me, of every breaking, crumbling bone in my body, like it was nothing, like i was nothing. like it was purely clinical, not akin to something criminal.

do you remember the last Sunday night we shared? when you hallowed out my insides and collected all that was vital, all that you once fawned over and dubbed as precious and special?

all that was passed down to me from my mother and my mother’s mother.

and left me stagnant in a frozen vessel, brandished with sunken eyes and falsely arranged laugh lines.

you were someone’s daughter once; you never saw me as more than another loss.

[creatureseason]

i feel lost whenever you fix your eyes upon my trembling lips

you really know how to make a body fall apart with something as earthly as an unhurried kiss

in a way i never knew was possible for a stubborn soul like mine

tell me, do you view me in the same light as i worship your feminine design,

as something holy and precious, a figure that’s unbearably divine?

i’ve spent years seated and stagnant, reciting piles of prayer and pledging allegiance to a presence in the sky

but now it all pales in comparison to the honest intimacy of your hand around my thigh

[creatureseason]

i’d let you scrawl lines of prose all over my exposed skin

imbed love letters deep into my aching limbs

paragraphs that only the pair of us can bare witness to

i’d give you the chance to mold me into a work of art

that’s worthy of a poet like you

it’s nothing compared to your sacrifice of loving a wretched soul like mine

for that, i’d give you a chance to rewrite the curve of my spine

[creatureseason]

pull me by my ancient hands

shred me to the bone

show me what only you and i could ever understand

i’ll give you you every thing i own

i’ll buy some land, build us a home

and we could wake up in bed

adorned in shades of gold and cherry red

[creatureseason]

it makes me feel like a child

seeing you build a home

filling it with furniture and someone else’s shampoo

do you remember when your blood was my own?

and now your sink is occupied by someone else’s comb

someone else’s hair lingers in the shower

and i seek solace through sleeping alone

[creatureseason]

i never knew that longing

could feel so scarily similar

to misplaced trust and the heavy ache

of burning lust and biting shame

the loss of a sense of belonging

and i know how it feels

to be discarded by a savior

or at least the metaphorical manifestation

of the guilt that they preach on sunday

through a scripture that’s wrongly translated

i know bruised knees and dry mouths,

confessions on bathroom floors

i’ve felt the tight grip in my hair

i learnt holiness between her legs

more than i ever did praising a god

that they said would rather see me dead

than losing a chance at going to heaven

[creatureseason]

*chanting quietly to myself*

“it hurts because it mattered it hurts because it mattered it hurts because it mattered it hurts because it mattered it hurts because it mattered it hurts because it mattered it hurts because it mattered it hurts because it mattered it hurts because it mattered it hurts because it mattered it hurts because it mattered it hurts because it mattered t hurts because it mattered it hurts because it mattered it hurts because it mattered it hurts because-”

[creatureseason]

i would say you made me sick in the head

but really, i’ve been ill since i was a child

they said they’ve never seen a case like mine

and it’s a miracle that i’ve had this much time

you touch me like i’m something deceitful

like these bones aren’t really my own

you’re an hard worker, an earner; i’m just a thief

is anything in this body really my own?

[creatureseason]

“you could have been so much more if you weren’t left to die by those you depended on to survive.”

“i know, i know, i know”

“so how is it your fault?”

“it has to be, it just has to be. guilt is easier than blame. i can deal with shame, i can deal with self-loathing. we’ve met before, the feeling and i.

i’ve walked hand in hand with it all my life. it’s grown familiar at this point. it’s another bone in my body, another means to an end. i’ve spent my whole life feeling wrong; it’s all i know.”

“that’s no way to live”

“it’s the only way i know.”

[creatureseason]

don’t you see the tragedy in it all?

i would have grown a hundred more limbs, thrown myself on the alter and pleaded for forgiveness

i would have bled for you, i would have let you claim a vein

and i would have gotten down on my knees and cleaned up the mess, if you had only asked

meanwhile, you went for the kill and on my last breath, i apologized for forgetting to wash the dishes

[creatureseason]

your mother will slip sometimes

your mother confesses in the early morning light, with a chipped and worn mug resting in her aging hand, that all did not seem like it was when you were a child.

it’s the same one you gifted to her in elementary school; the mug.

tied with a loose bow, presenting it to her with small, grubby hands covered in hues of green and gold finger-paint. “happy mother’s day” clumsily scrawled across the bottom.

your mother speaks, as if it the easiest thing in the word to admit, how difficult it was to love your father when he was drinking. how difficult it is to love anyone who’s swept in the throes of addiction and misery.

for the mother, it is a fact of life, an alternative to breathing, to be accepting of this reality.

she grieves through quiet quips about the past and hopeful eyes for the future. she makes do the same way she did when you were a baby; she survives.

to you, it is a slit throat, a faulty pipe, a loose end that’s run out of string.

he’s better now. it’s been decades since his last drink. you are better now. you’ve been clean for 23 weeks.

and your mother sips coffee from her mug.

[creatureseason]

and you hold me like a stranger,

i need you like warm weather

i leave you like a lover;

you reply, “it’s my pleasure”

when we make our great return

it will take place in the bedroom

i’ll drift further in the winter

and you’ll ask me if i’m eating dinner

[creatureseason]

would my mother cry if she saw what you’ve left of my body?

would she weep for a child left to the wolves,

or perhaps clasp her hands in a prayer she has not recited in decades

you performed the autopsy yet had me dig my own grave, relentless in your carelessness

of maybe stubborn in your recklessness

would your mother cry if she witnessed my demise?

what would she say when the funeral invitations arrived?

would she don black and grey, like it’s a familiar game?

join the funeral brigade, fall in line to the anthem,

marching in tune with a distant look full of the features that she passed on to you

or choose to divert her eyes, and find comfort in the biting shame

i’ll never known how the rest of this story goes, i’ll remain stuck in limbo, drifting between the morning and midnight service.

and you’ll go on, living in delusion or denial, claiming it was an act of love, while the ghost of me haunts the church aisles.

[creatureseason]

you carved your name into my chest;

meticulous and with a steady, familiar hand.

sat back and watched with hunger in your eyes,

licking your lips, as all your love seeped into my ribs.

coating my insides, ruining me for any other.

as if you’ve wrapped me in yellow tape, baring your teeth at any passerby,

like a guard dog with a bone; you say it’s the only way you’ve ever known

you swear you only did it because i just look so damn pretty,

with a piece of you consuming my system and filling up my weakening body

with my bleeding heart on display

and the imprint of your fingers smudged into my spine.

but i heard your voice, a sort of blasé tone present in your speech:

i know you better than that.

i’ve walked with you through crumbling wastelands and kissed you for every greedy hand that’s ventured past my waistband

i know that this is easier for you; you won’t have to carry the weight all alone.

you’ve never been comfortable with the idea of growing old.

[creatureseason]

“maybe i’m wrong. maybe i was born sick, with illness in my blood and disease written into my veins, spelled out with the same letters as your name.”