Marcela Bolivar
I haven’t the strength
To answer your request
Though I find your words
Requisite, proximate, sufficient
I would eat them if I could,
Like cherries or cancer
What color is freedom?
Every face I see is unsociably clear
I wouldn’t recognize a smile
If I held it between my teeth
Against my breasts or even if it fell
Posthumously from the ceiling light
Like a hirsute bother
What good is a smile anyways?
Can I hang my coat on it?
Will it make me beautiful?
Rich? Thin? Less formidable?
If I walk on my hands
Will I appear happier?
More sane? Less avid?
If I draw my lips, harlot red
In the shape of a bow
Will you love me as I am?
What if I cannot write
Ink being the substance
Of my selfdom
Will you declare me past tense?
And wash your face
Of my ill-advised spleen?
mindlovemisery 