cathartic poetry

poet • they • queer • tracks #catharticpoetry

[catharticpoetry]

queen

quarter past midnight finds us tiptoeing through the hallways of the condo building, giggling and you're kissing the spot behind my ear. but we have to be quiet as we go, i fiddle with the key and your hand slips under my shirt, "shhhh, don't wake my sister, she's just in the other room." my hands on your velvet dress, your hands beneath my breasts, baby i'll treat you like a queen all night if you'll let me. you've always liked it rougher, nails, teeth, throat, just pull my hair where you want me, i'm five drinks beyond fucking nicely, queer and loving every quiver, every quick flick of your fingers. until it's morning, baby, and the sun has risen. i'll love you tender and find a soft quilt to cover last night's bruises.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

cotton candy

your words taste like crystallized cotton candy. i taste them sweet, concentrated on my tongue and you stick around for hours until you're giving me toothaches, backhanded compliments that keep me up at night. no mouthwash gets rid of your rot.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

fogged

late afternoon finds me, slouched in the bathtub with glasses so fogged i can barely see, but still the dysphoria hits me static tv, siren streets and i pinch the parts of my chest i wish would run down the drain. the water is scalding but i can't feel a thing. maybe i'll just slip under.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

nickels

the world is drowning and i'm striking a match, watching the water evaporate slower than time. but nickels are still currency– gather enough change and you'll get rich just the same. these flames are long burning, light up the picket line with me. tell me, have you ever witnessed the birth of revolution?

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

cocktail

friday night crawls across the parking lot as a sleepwalker. i'll kick your feet under the table just to prove i'm not a ghost while the bartender mixes a stiff sleeve of absinthe and nyquil. i'll fill up on liquid sunshine to forget all that's empty.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

i wish it weren’t a metaphor

with god as my witness i cut my own flesh, chest, open wound, gaping hole. my lungs, still breathing, walls, still weeping, i cut my breasts away. god knows i never asked for them anyway.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

pyromania

my pillow holds pyromaniac dreams, light sleeper and forearms itching for burns in third degree, ripping apart my wardrobe for underwire, pink lingerie and black lace, set the whole damned drawer on fire and watch flames lick until they are skeletons of sexuality stripped in cisnormativity. if i wake, have it be in embers, my appetite is for fire and i'm sleeping in fuel.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

crypto-genderism

cut two holes into a white sheet and drape me– i'll stand in front of you casting tall shadows but i won't beg to be seen. i was a ghost to you already.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

feelings

you can meet me in the darkroom, taste my bubblegum in the pitch black– I know you think our bodies are forbidden, but i've seen your photographs. they're in the chemical baths and the pictures don't lie– there's more than an image developing.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

this is embarrassing

oh god, i've become a fucking disaster again, tearing myself open, picking at aging wounds and i'm pouring vinegar for fun, for sympathy and the hope of genuine connection, i've gone numb, and i bet you haven't seen the worst of me yet. i'm right on time for my scheduled breakdown, eyes misty and self induced stress headaches, i think i'm better when i'm falling apart. a monster of my own making, attention whore in your waking, please tell me i'm pretty in my self destruction, call me messy in need of fixing, i'm your parasite and i know that. it's the only thing i can be so perfectly, i can cry into the night, do you want to see? put me on reality tv for the pity views, hate me publicly to fuel this fire, i'm a cog in my own machine, i'm burning my wick at both ends. call me a hurricane, call me tragic, call me on the phone and tell me i'm not manic, i make myself nauseous. i hate every inch of myself, my brain to my waist, i hate my legs and my breasts and the voices in my head, i hate it all. i'm a self deprecating narcissist who thinks they are special. god, i'm not some fucking rarity. i should put down my sewing needles, nobody gives a shit if i've been playing voodoo with myself again.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

dissociate

i'm staring at my body on the floor from above, wondering when i'll peel myself up again. i'm not feeling bad, i just haven't been feeling and i'm watching it all pinned up on the ceiling. i'm peter pan, a lost boy fading, sew my soul to my shadow, i am slowly waning and the highs and lows are seeming like the same thing lately.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

movement

turn the volume up until it's bleeding through the walls, i want to feel the beat pulsing through me, let me breathe and marry the melody as i fold my body into abstractions never pausing long enough for the floor to know my weight. you call this art, i call it survival.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

fester

when the day rolls over and cuts open her stomach, maggots crawl out from her skin. and i'm left in the shell of my room in the dark hoping i sleep with my mouth shut.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

day drunk

afternoon has barely woken up and i pour myself lemonade with a jolt of gin, god knows the days and nights are blurry and i'm watching the sun from my window like a passerby... if this is life, i'll play by its rules, hazy and heavy as the reality settling in my drink.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

wash me with soap

log today under another plate gone unwashed, i never wanted to show you how difficult i can be— i’m a pile of dirty dishes stacked in the sink. overwhelming and unpleasant on the eyes.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

titillation

crave me as sugar, reality television– make me your guilty pleasure. consume me too much and all at once, waste your saturday on my high. "it's five o'clock somewhere," sip me delicious, devious, delectable. secrets are fun when kept correctly.

–n.b.s.

[catharticpoetry]

nice to meet you ...

meet me and you'll know i'm not dictionary compatible– i never could spell for shit and your words fit me like hand-me-downs that are too big and too scratchy, and never to my taste. nice to meet you, please stop reminding me language is not built to hold my existence in its mouth. you know, i've never felt like i belonged anywhere, not with the girls or the boys or the poets, not smoking on the curb or at the gym, i'm not fun around strangers, i'd rather talk to your cat and have my eyes swell, better from allergies than tears.

–n.b.s.