Xanadu
 

My skin prickles from the  freezing chill of refrigerated air,  deafening sounds of skates carving  up the ice fills my ears.  The slap of the puck, the crash of the boards  quiets the chaos of my mind.  This is my happy place.  Tainted by angry shouts from  overzealous parents, held back by expectations,  ruled by unnecessary politics. Still—beneath the buzzing lights,  I find comfort in the scrape of my blades, in the sweat that permeates my gloves,  in my teammates’ laught

I still remember when you were just another face, Just another grain of sand,  In the desert of my life; Filled only with barren vegetation,  And the occasional sandstorm, That would bring long periods of drought.  But you ended up being an oasis;  Your presence wasn’t just refreshing,  It was validating. I could see myself in the reflection your spring,  And feel affirmed; As if who I was, How I felt, And what I wanted, Was enough. No matter how many times I wandered the des

The jacket, with every leather scratch and frayed stitch, strangled my body like a psych ward patient. Fighting every urge to rip the pieces of chrome-tanned hyde that's slowly suffocating me. Concealed from the outside, the epicenter of my life remains unseen, hidden by this grotesque, bulky, ill -fitted outerwear. Jacketed with embarrassment, coated with mortification, stitched together with the remains of a harmless creature. The organic, skinned animal covers what is trul

Retrieved from the closet once more, another problem I must stabilize. Bones creak and muscles moan with pain, each step more taxing than the last. I am carefully slipped on, hugging the heel and ball, attempting to bring some — if any — relief. My boning has already stretched far past its limits, my shape slowly distorting. I still hear groans and grunts echoing — problems which I cannot resolve. Yet I still hold on, for that is my essence. My purpose. To piece together a sh

Caramelized, comforting chocolate hits The molar. It's nice and new. The tooth And the glucose have made a bond. I am here but with what purpose. You are sweet yet I am spiteful.  You brought me to life just to be Covered with a crown, probed with hard metal.  As I worsen, the taste of blood is all I know.  When will you stop? Drills, forceps, plucking parts of my presence,  Erasing me–for good.

After Ken Griffin I’m infatuated with my values, then I’m tried by integrity and myself. My ideas arranged on a shelf until I have to choose. A fragment of myself I lose when I tell me and you what I would do if I were you. In truth, I am not sure what I would do.

I’d rather remain wrapped in the foil, sealed in the box. Untouched on the shelf of a convenience store, than be gummed. To have all my bubbly flavor sucked out. To be chewed over, and over again. A temporary bubble of pleasure that once it pops is spit out. Disregarded. Replaced by a fresher piece.  While I’m left stuck to the bottom of a shoe, or underneath a table. I’ve become someone else’s problem. If given the choice I would’ve remained as a resin, dripping from the saf

I’ve been laundered. You used me,  valued and cherished me. But once a new material comes long, you throw me on the floor.   You no longer needed me. I'm not perfect. I have stains that need to be spun and rinsed out, hit with a rock and  vigorously scrubbed on a ridged surface. Once I’ve worked my wrinkles out, sorted and folded nicely, I am still neglected. I need to be washed on delicate. I am being ripped up, snagged and other colors fade into me. And yet my fabric will o

Eyes watering. Lights glaring. Everybody staring. I do not want to be tabled. I do not want to be looked at. I do not want to be on display. So stuck, so tired.  Table turning my stomach. Legs shaky and splintered. Nowhere to go—Nowhere to hide.

I’m laddered by others,  stepped on and used. Rear rail creaking  under the intense weight as I’m a platform to climb and take advantage of. The rear braces, unused to  such load, caves in on itself. Meant to reach for towering heights,  yet exploited for selfishness.  I splinter in silence, my frame begging for care. Paint chipped from the grasp of hands that never stay. Still, I hold their hopes, their boots,  their burdens.   When they are done ascending,  no one ever look