Oh, ingenious is this state,
For as I come to understand that I have lost everything,
I sense the infinite pleasure
Of having in hand
My own being
Which
Neither praise nor crown
Could ever have bestowed on me.
“delirium” -Mimoza ahmeti
I imagine being birthed with hesitance. My mother asking the midwife. Are you sure she’s ready? Will her softness turn to stone? I imagine those fears traveling inside of her. Finding the space my freedom lives and prodding at its’ plush mass. My body disassembling itself to make room for them. Fears being developed before my body can. Nine months of shared space; Without consent. I imagine my mother pushing. eyes shut. Fears first. then me. I’m the youngest I would explain. As they would stand in front of me. Paving the path. Checking the boxes. My mother assuring me that they’re wise beyond their years. that I should listen to them. For they lived in her before they ever lived in me.
Inheritance
Now that I know It seems so obvious, We are The nature of a fractal. A spinning of a web A kaleidoscope universe. Sometimes I align my breath With the formation of a cloud On days I feel like I have forgotten my given name. And the world feels like it is only orbiting for me And the neighbor passes by Giving a glance my way. Eyeing my inhale. Don't breathe in too much deary, It ain't going anywhere. His legs the same rhythm As my heart. A glitch in the system A tick in time. A Truman show fuckery. The perfect timing.
My mother used to say That I can think a thought Until it questions itself
Life
Life
Life
Life
The Glitch
Fati
Fate: the development of events beyond a person's control, regarded as determined by a supernatural power
The tea spoon sings the hymns of the women that have come before me. I know this to be true because as my feet march on, the tea spoon’s song ascends into hypnotism. Clinking itself against the glass filled full of sweet, ceremoniously red liquid. An offering of what is to come from this marriage. I set down the offering and watch as he leans over to take what is now his.
Stand up straight.
So I do. My chest pouring out of the lace I have been covered in. Gold chains squeezing themselves in between me. This is how he likes me. I know this because the mountains speak of women with chests growing like roses through the cracks in God’s skin. I know this because I have been measured and fit to be the woman with roses for breasts. Ready to be plucked, to be taken, thorns and all. His mouth touches the glass with hesitancy. Testing the temperature from the steam that shape shifts itself into dew on the hairs above his mouth. I stand tall as I feel the liquid being sucked into his body. I am now a part of him.
He will find God in you.
And he does. He finds God when my legs seperate themselves, knees meeting the edge of each side of the white covered mattress. He is ready to be painted red. This is how he likes me. I know this because my heart in between my legs beats louder and louder when I hear the exertion in his voice. He pulls himself out of me. This is done without hesitancy. We have exchanged our mixtures. One lives inside of me and the other sits red on him. I see his pride in the understanding that I have only ever been his. He does not seem to feel the shift in the room. I will not be the one to tell him that the red he sees is coming from God’s wrath. The tea spoon is still singing on the now empty glass. Telling me that time will be taken before he will know I was never his.
You must give birth to her first.
you always left your love on your pillowcase to take in the morning sun
you would put it there the night before like a kid
setting up their first two teeth for the tooth fairy
hoping you would wake up to tangibility
hoping you would wake up to love wanting you back
hoping this aged body can make room
through the night to take in a love
so full so wondrous
so filled with light but as your eyes would flicker
open to the room lacking the lushness of your dreams
now a faint thought remembering that
once you saw your mother
slip slip a five dollar bill
under your pillowcase and the lushness of your world fainted
the magic was gone
