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I Am Not a Non-Sequitur

by Therese Elaine

Transformation, I am the animal in winter, it is my turn to be hungry
Empty pockets have so much potential for filling up with emptier promises
Carousels in full splendor spinning wildly in madcap exultation, we all just want a ride
My hands are cold and my glasses are dirty and I wonder if I'm any good at all
There is being and becoming and then there is where I've been and I don't want to be there again
Chipped nail sacrifices to dirty gods in abandoned cars, post-coitus recoil
The sight of all those smells and the hue of all those words, it is a watercolor I can no longer decipher
I am not concerned about the what, I only care about the why, it is here I lose my footing, it is here that I am blind
A years worth of postcards tied with a ribbon that no longer ties me to you
You are no longer an anonymous voice in the dark -you scare me with your beauty and you'll fight me every step of the way
This, this is not home and I'm just trying to find my ticket to the only station that makes sense on this map
I think if he touched me, I'd see fingerprints and tire tracks and memories of all his candlelit dinners for one
Your weather report is ridiculous, its obvious that a storm is coming so fuck you and your sunny outlook, no umbrella can save me
This is not a permanent affliction, merely a creative rictus, go on about your business, my madness will cease to shudder and I'll go the way of all excess debris
I've got an empty wine bottle for every man I've ever fucked but not enough drunkenness to remove the stains on my living room rug
We are the only creatures capable of deliberate cruelty, lies not for the sake of ensuring survival but for the sake of causing pain
I am too substantial to be rendered inconsequential
I don't want to hear that its going to get better, I want to hear that you'll help me get revenge
I am far too nice for this sort of thing...I'm stealing your car and I'm burning these bridges - look for me around Christmas card time
I am far too good for this sort of thing...I've got a diary I never wrote and some scars I never noticed before and I think I just need a love song to remind me that I've got nice eyes
I want to bury myself in fur and feathers that smell of clandestine meetings and taste like two parts ecstasy and one part bitter realization
I might need you to hold me down while I cauterize this wound, I wouldn't ask only I'm afraid I'll knock over the lamp
This may seem nonsensical and maybe it lacks any but the most criminal sensibilities but it makes sense that my innocence is really only sensing a lack of sensory sensation
I will not be dismissed
Transformation, I am the animal in winter, it is my turn to hunt.

11/11/2007

Author's Note: Distressingly sober.

Posted on 11/11/2007
Copyright © 2024 Therese Elaine

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 11/14/07 at 05:21 PM

Thought provoking backlash to men who've done you wrong. As it's often been said, "writing is first and foremost good therapy."

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