#amanda-oaks

[tremblingwarsong]

mama, you say fat like something between a profanity, and a curse and i don’t know if i’m the witch or the victim in this story. was i cursed on the day of my birth by an angry witch with slow metabolism or was i the witch who was always too hungry for the world; did i eat something i wasn’t supposed to?

there’s a girl across the room in a dress, and you look at her with sharp vulgarity. you say “don’t people look in the mirror before they leave the house” and i stand there looking down at my pants that i haven’t taken off in years, and wonder if you’d say the same about me if i ever wore a dress, or a skirt or shorts-“ fat girls aren’t supposed to wear things like that.”  “ you need to remember your size while dressing”

there are scratches on my stomach for every time you’ve told me how pretty i’d be if i was thin. there are belly aches, and hunger for the nights you commented on my plate- all the things you do not see. there’s sweat on the back of my head from hating myself so much. mama, its tiring.

i do not have it in me to hate myself anymore. i do not have it in me to be thin, and pretty; take your fat girl to the store, and get her a dress. show her the mirror. she’s tired of being hungry.   THE POEM I’D NEVER WRITE //  NAPOWRIMO 30/30 [LIT NIGHT * 30 Poetry Prompts for national poetry month 2017-  Begin with the title “The Poem I’d Never Write.” Then, write that poem.]

[tremblingwarsong]

in a different kind of muscle memory- you touched me, completely naked, with the lights on and no hesitation to accompany it. i don’t remember if i was spinning or if it was the room; this is one of the times i forgot to breathe. there’s something about your gliding fingers that i can’t seem to describe or your hungry mouth and how it wreaked havoc on my flesh; so urgent. so vulnerable. so soft. so violent. there’s no way to describe how i traced every bruise till it disappeared. there’s something about the way you bite into fruit that i cannot remove from my bones- in a different kind of muscle memory, you made an ocean in my belly and drank all the water from it; the salt rests on your tongue, and stings every time we kiss- and in another kind of muscle memory we became god. my body was the church, and your neck, my alter. my flesh a rosary, and yours, the sinner; our mouths were communion, and everything else was lost in hymns. here is a body made of deer carcasses, wearing a crown made of paper flowers. here is a car with blood on its headlights. here is the road, that stays stained for days. and here is the wolf, with flesh in his teeth; here is an aching for them all- in a different kind of muscle memory. one with complete destruction; one, that was the most beautiful, we made art, with braking bodies, and love, with everything else- with this different kind of muscle memory, we’d never been more pure, or holy; with blood on our teeth. GODHOOD // NAPOWRIMO 28/30 [LIT NIGHT * 30 Poetry Prompts for national poetry month 2017- If your body is a church, what memory is its god?]

[tremblingwarsong]

they say ‘you made your bed, now lay in it’ and for once, mine was comfortable enough to sleep in. there’s a place between dreams, and nightmares that we only see at night- some nights fall right in the middle of it.

a broken home feels like a broken spine, and we’d never really had one to begin with; so we just sat there, shoulders crouching, limp kissing, and no holding whatsoever. every conversation felt like yet another needle being thrown in my little ocean belly [that always seems so big] and every time i’d wonder if the water feels the pricking.

i’d stay up all night crying about all the missing parts, and all the things that weren’t enough; the only problem was, that then, it seemed like they were a part of me;  i see now, that they weren’t. i remember you kissing me with a mouth that had just whispered love to countless other people. calling them exactly what you called me.  i remember telling you it was okay [like my cool girl self]; i hated it. i’d stay up every night, having more panic attacks than you could dream of. you weren’t there to see them, or care enough- and so that night, when you spoke about her smell, with your smokey mouth, i lost all that held me when nothing could. i lost all that could fill me when nothing else did, but the thing is- i gained myself. i remembered what i deserve; it wasn’t you- and for that, i am eternally grateful. LOSING AND GAINING // NAPROWRIMO 26/30 [LIT NIGHT * 30 Poetry Prompts for national poetry month 2017-  Fuck what you lost that night. Write what you gained.]

[tremblingwarsong]

i. i’ve tried my hardest to love with an open heart. perhaps, i don’t have what it takes; open palms, and open chests, and open mouths- i am in another space just trying to reach you without destroying the world. tell me my fault in all this.

ii. the night may never hit two places at the same time, but it is never gone. i’m here, just spinning in circles to get to you. please stay; i will get to you. i am making rings around myself to keep you from falling, i swear. i’m covering myself up with rope, just to hold us in place- can you not see this?

iii. don’t you remember how we are the fervent hunger in a wolf’s belly? don’t you remember the urgency of the wind when we touched the first time? don’t you remember the thunder, and how it scarred the earth, that broke into pieces for us? don’t you remember any of this?

iv. i am here, cracking my bones open. i am here, holding a scalpel to my neck. i am here, peeling open every wound for you- please see my desperate attempt to save myself. please lay with me, as i sew myself shut. please keep me safe; i have no reason, not to beg. i am a mad thing, in love. i always have been. oh, darling- please love me.

v. so stay with me, and smell soft jasmine in my wake. stay, and watch the stars fall- hold them for us, till we meet again. stay, please don’t leave me- i am wild thing in love; asking for everything you posses. i’m giving you my everything in return. here is my open heart, swallow it whole; here are my open palms, open mouth, open chest. here am i, with all my vulnerability, and shame. take me /                                                                                                   stay with me. DON’T GIVE ME UP // NAPOWRIMO 8/30 [LIT NIGHT * 30 Poetry Prompts for national poetry month 2017- Convince someone, anyone, for whatever reason, to stay.]

[tremblingwarsong]

here is a room; door half open, that leads to a lavender field. a white room on the other side, with one window- make a home of it. colour it yellow and turn the walls into the ocean. open the window, and breathe 12 times straight without exhaling. feel the smell lose itself inside you. now close the door, and let the window be open. turn the floor into flowers, and the ceiling into the sky, and you into nothing. be nothing-

open the door. forget the room. forget the field, but swallow it before you leave. make space in your chest, leading to your belly. breathe in the ocean, the lavender, the flowers, the sky. breathe in with everything, and breathe out; now forget everything again.

here is an open hand- grab it. here is a picture of yourself- hold it; look at it as carefully as you can. take in every imperfection, every insecurity and burn it in your brain- now remember the room again. the field, the ocean, the flowers, the sky, all that lavender; embrace it. embrace everything.   remember the ocean, the sky, the flowers, the smell, the lavender, the breaths. remember everything; remember how you’re a part of it. remember the ocean, the room, the walls, the sky, the ceiling, the window, the smell, the lavender, the floors, the flower; remember  how you’re a part of it. remember the insecurities, the imperfections. remember how you’re in everything. how you’re a part of it, and how all of it is still beautiful, and blooming. embrace it; embrace yourself.  you’re not the person in the room anymore. the door isn’t half open or half closed. you are you now, and the room is just a room. nothing has changed. take a deep breath, and 10 more, without exhaling. take a deep breath, and exhale. forget the door, and walk away. everything still smells the same; remember that picture of yourself. look at it;                                                                          what’s changed? IMAGERY [AS A STEP BY STEP GUIDE INTO LOVING YOURSELF] // NAPOWRIMO 24/30 [LIT NIGHT * 30 Poetry Prompts for national poetry month 2017- Write a poem in which something gets opened or closed.]

[tremblingwarsong]

his fingers brush over my neck, laced with a violent tenderness that neither of us understands; a place between pure hunger, and naked vulnerability that speaks about the blatant urgency of a touch, and how it makes us forget every lesson on self-control that we have learnt. his fingertips tell me stories about sensation, and how he remembers the way my skin flinched under him, even though this is the first time. stories about discoveries i haven't made about myself. places i haven’t visited yet; most of all, they tell me stories about all the love i’ve been keeping from me.

with little traces across my spine, i learn about my beauty. the strength i never thought i had, stands highlighted under him. he says words like holy in a song to my skin and i breathe harder than i ever have. there are stories about devotion in his touch, and the description of how i deserve it. there are stories about how my honey doused flesh causes madness, and addiction, and sweat; he tells me about the act of devouring it. he whispers everything from hymns to wild profanity as he smudges my back with his touch, and i lose all sense of belonging to this world.

next, we talk about ache and how it has plagued us upto this moment. he tells me about finally being free from it, and about being bound to me now. there’s something about completeness in both of us, and a story about safety. a story about love, and fullness, in more breathlessness.

holding my arms, he screams about my body. he calls me beautiful through every stretch mark on my body. every mark, every scar is a sign of survival he says, and for the first time, i believe it. he gives speeches about all the things i’ve hated in myself and buries them somewhere in my belly; i see my love, re- appear for myself, slowly- and he breathes in, tangles his fingers in mine and screams, till neither of us has voices or words, for that night. A NIGHT OF STORIES [TOLD IN QUIET TOUCHES] // NAPOWRIMO 23/30 [LIT NIGHT * 30 Poetry Prompts for national poetry month 2017- What would their fingertips say?]

[tremblingwarsong]

i. open your palms, and press them down on the wooden floor. take a deep breath. dig your nails in, and pull out every block of wood, till nothing is left.

ii. now pick up the shovel on your left. hollow out the surface, big enough to bury yourself in. throw the shovel out of the window, once you’ve punctured your chest with it.

iii. excavate your heart, and throw it in the hole. next goes your mouth, then your tongue. then your lungs. de-hinge your hands in the end. they caused all of this.

iv. kill the want before it takes you; take a deep breath, and sing a song to yourself. pray for the surface to fall back into place, and the wooden planks to align themselves.

v. take another deep breath, and say your final goodbyes. let your bones sink into your the ceiling of downstairs neighbour’s kitchen. smell the sizzling meat in her oven. smile at yourself one last time, and let yourself fall.

vi. listen to his voice, as you make your descent. think of his mouth, as you hit the ground. dream about his hand as you welcome unconsciousness. never wake up. HOW TO FALL IN LOVE // NAPOWRIMO 20/30 [LIT NIGHT * 30 Poetry Prompts for national poetry month 2017- Write a How-To poem, examples: How To Kiss a Snake, How To Sharpen Your Tongue.]

[tremblingwarsong]

7 dried roses thrown into the sea. 2 drowning in me, like the passengers of a broken ship. 12 cracked ribs, opened- to find the pink ocean water you drank from as a child. 3 blooming orchids sprouting from your throat, and 1 lotus in my belly. come drain the lake, and make more space for yourself. i am 15 stones on my back, and 29 pebbles in my mouth. i cannot walk dear love. here is the violent sea, with  17 moons to show for it. 4 under my dress, covered with 25 peonies. you are an open field, and i, a breaking sky- find me a star that breaks into 36 pieces, and tear my heart into 9. eat it for 16 days, till it grows back again; as yours- don’t stop the blood stream. now, break your fangs into 5 pieces, and bury them in my mouth; we’re both rotten with longing now. A REBIRTH OR RITUAL [FOR LOVE] // NAPOWRIMO 25/30 [LIT NIGHT * 30 Poetry Prompts for national poetry month 2017- Write a poem that repeatedly uses numbers.]