what i always wondered was
how you can be beautiful and broken,
how can you not look like a
sixteen wheeler drove over you--
crushed your skull--
and your brain oozes out of your ears
and your skin is bright pink and tight
(burned like rubber tires)
how can you be beautiful and broken?
when i am broken, i am not beautiful
(i am ugly and gory)
my bones are snapped into pieces
i am immobile and mangled
and my blood is rushing out of me
like the Jews fled Germany
in World War Two
(so quickly, sometimes clotting)
my teeth roll out of my mouth
and my tongue is cut up
my wrists are split open
as is my nose--
chopped off with my ears and my hair
(they're on the floor)
then my eyes are gouged out
but i can feel the hacking of my feet
and hands and i try to scream
but it comes out a guttural sound
(blood gurgles in my windpipes)
then a knife slices through my chest
opens up my insides and unearths
my lungs-- then goes my heart
it gets stabbed like a lion's would
(out of fear)
it is still struggling to beat
poor thing
it spurts out blood
rocketing it into the air
i am still not done-- still not dead
so then i am scalped
my brain is drowned in oxygen and
surrounded in a pool of blood
(finally it sees the mess)
look at me now
i'm broken, aren't i?
i am.
but do i look beautiful to you?
(i don't think so)
Author's Note:
This is an extremely old poem, actually one of the first I ever wrote. Thought I'd share it.
YOU ARE READING
seams and stitching ♡ published
Poetry"this is your kind of story. no one is the good guy-- no one is the bad guy-- the blame shifts from monster to monster and in this place everyone bares their teeth." [featured. highest ranking: #6 in poetry.]
