inscrutability (baby teeth)
another poem
i long to be loved -- yet freeze at the thought of touch because all i have learned is how warmth can make you malleable. i don’t recall every single time i have lost my teeth but one particular instance -- crimson pooled dripping from my toddler-sized mouth like a steady man -made wa ter fall after that, i stopped speaking my mind. so i told myself i hated hugs. when the kids on the playground embraced the world with open arms i stayed inside studying hesitation wondering why i lived so timid and terrified of letting someone into my bubble even for a game of patty cake it was in high school when i was told to be touched is to be loved and i knew something was wrong -- but who challenges authority when she insists she’s on your side? and how was i to know that the ambulance game the suggestive glances the “accidentally” lifted skirt and sexually-charged comments were all just “signs he liked me”? i remembered -- this is why i don’t speak up. * i don’t think i heard “sexy” again until my twenties two slices of “you are so beautiful” sandwiching “slut” “whore” “sick fuck” a hand on my throat -- bruises beyond my own vision -- that kept me full long enough to convince myself this is love. but if this is love, why am i wincing at the aftertaste running my tongue along the backs of my teeth -- making sure they’re still there? * i became emaciated after that wishing i could start over and not see my last meal in every one of my reflections i just wanted to be held; is that so bad to ask? so i linger in my mother’s arms just a little longer until i have to let go and run my tongue along my teeth again -- counting what’s left of someone who still longs to be loved.
-xoxo, Amanda