My Special Place
(A college creative writing teacher insights us to write about a special place. First, it’s attributes, smaller than a bread box, and next, it’s distinguish-ments, larger than a car.)
Girl Brain (brilliant beauty)
I can see through to the ovaries
with x-ray vision feminine intuition.
and once I lost my pen in my cleavage
and it remained lost there until
I stared at a mirror to fix
my lipstick.
Someday I’ll be a mother,
but today the medieval pleats
of a skirt barely conceal
my skinny thighs
that trail, like voluptuous sentences,
into shapely ankles.
I am a girl.
And perhaps something
Else.
Brain (upside down)
The space cadet head is most comfortable
At the highest elevation;
The slightest sensation shakes
My curls with cosmic elation
(a spiritual practice of mental masturbation.)
Dizzy star flies orbit the cranium,
a halo of nausea infinitum.
(like a reveler at the altar of Christ boy,
I succumb to the drumming of ho hum.)
Wandering Brain (spun around)
But really, who am I kidding?
I don’t belong anywhere?
I could walk from one end of the earth
To the tippy top acme of the other
And never be less of a stranger,
Stranger, yet, to myself—
Who you’d think
I’d be familiar with
By now.
Exploded Brain (distress cry)
My brain coils got pulled out
of my head and I grow
them down my back
because I feel like a princess
styled like that.
It’s rather distressing
To lose so many brain cells
for purposes of vanity—
but I’d rather lose a few
in appeal for a bargain plea.
A little sanity is arguably
A sweet deal.
(I guess it’s kind of sneaky to be so freaky
disguised by all this femininity.)
Girl Body (built)
If magnified larger than car sized,
Tits would be outrageous on the latest girl
Model,
Larger than car sized wouldn’t be so
convenient for a brain.
The synaptic chasms, increased,
Would slow down the processing of:
OOOOOOO pretty flower….
….passing cloud….
Hot ass….
The power of pouty lipped glower
Requires impeccable (peck-able)
Timing.
Imprecision develops facial souring—
Does not result—
--in boy cowering.
Girls are better relatively small
If compared to the relative size
Of a shiny shiny car.
College Girl (grilled rare)
Here I am:
pink and raw with
A charcoal smoked skin
of perfect cracking black crumb.
Meat.
Once eating was intimate,
But now it’s something consuming
(21st century consumption all over again.)
But I can’t protest it
Without being digested
by a litany of feminism.
I’m not done
Yet.
Unburn the lover from my skin,
Reburn the words I suck
With fat red girl lips onto the canon
Of original sin.
Intimately on my knees and
impossibly in my head
but at least not dead (yet.)
"In another sense it is about the many different ways we humans have of being fucked. How we are differently and similarly fucked by our circumstances, how recognizing fuckedness can paralyze or be catalyst or be both or be one one day and the other the next or make you so confused and bereft you just need to drive off somewhere.
But it is not overly bleak as all that because at its heart and for all its criticism of society there is a love of us people and a sadness for us and a true, desperate, childish belief in friendship. Like when you were eight or twelve and you graduated from spit brothers to blood brothers and you were inseparable, The Insurgent believes that a solid human connection can make things more bearable which makes me smile because when I think of an insurgent I think of a loner but that’s dumb right, because insurgence needs support, needs numbers, to swell."
(source)