14. AL’s poem to CW

May 11, 2018

I Don’t Want it Anymore

This body

I have been told

Is perfect.

Lean and tan.

This face

I am have been told

Is beautiful.

Red lipstick vamps.

I do not want these

Pretty baubles.

Anymore.

 

I am sick to death

Of being baby dear

Lost fawn in the woods

Bambi rape bait

Sick to death

Of endless

Incessant

Men chatting me up

Any way they can get to me.

I beat them off with a stick.

 

I am celibate

Like a nun.

Asexual?

Not a phrase 

Of my Generation X.

I don’t want to date anyone.

I prefer women.

I prefer to be alone.

I am married to a dead woman.

She is all I want.

 

If man-repellent were a spray

I would spray it

All around me.

I wear my dead wife’s

Wedding ring

To look married.

Let my hair go all grey.

Cut my hair myself.

Eat Breyers Ice Cream

By the quart carton.

Flat stomach stays.

Thigh gap the same.

 

I didn’t bathe today

Put on Men’s Old Spice

Swagger deodorant

So I would smell 

Like a lesbian.

I only wear makeup

Benefit Contour Palette

Smashbox red lipstick

For my dignity.

For my pride.

For I am a lady

It would be beneath me

Not to look as if 

I gave a shit. 

 

Even smelling

Like a sweaty dude

All red lipstick scowl

And tan tattooed shoulders.

My Lyft driver hit on me

Dangerously close

Uncomfortably familiar.

I don’t

Fuck around

With the help.

 

I am about this close

From taking a box cutter

Mangling this face.

Into meatloaf

To be disfigured.

No longer so beautiful.

If that wouldn’t

Be termed self-harm

Landing me 

In a psych ward

Yet again.

Perhaps forever.

 

Plus all that blood

I hate blood.

And my vanity

What of that?

 

I want to be

Ice queen witch

Alone in my tower tall

This crone Rapunzel

Lets down her moon-colored bob 

For no man.

Grow high bramble thorns

About my castle deep

Let me sleep untill

Death delivers me 

To the arms of my beloved.

The only woman I seek

To be beautiful for

Now ashes forevermore.