Like a Book

Do not ask me 

to open up to you

‘like a book’ 

to unfold my pages

my rough draft 

my final 

if all you’re willing to do 

is rip them out one by one 

cross over the words that created me 

and infiltrate me with your own. 

 

Do not ask me 

to open up to you

‘like a book’ 

if you’re not willing to read

a piece of someone else’s creation 

your touch is prevalent in these pages 

but these thoughts are my own 

this ink is my own 

this story is my own. 

 

Do not ask me 

to open up to you

‘like a book’ 

if you refuse to believe in originality 

annihilate dichotomy 

and wish to turn me into a copy 

of your own work 

believe it or not 

this story 

belongs to me. 

 

Do not ask me 

to open up to you

‘like a book’ 

a book is meant to be read

and i wish to remain a mystery

my pages leave nothing unsaid 

your gentle flipping:

intimacy 

but i wish for no such touch 

unmarked; unscathed; free of injury. 

 

Do not ask me 

to open up to you

‘like a book’ 

some books are made to be sealed shut 

some books are left on racks untouched 

some books aren’t meant for reading

some books are void of plots and such 

i am but a work in the making

my spine too weak to sustain 

the tears of holding me open 

so don’t ask me; never again. 

Sin

please excuse my sin-ridden skin 

stories of slaughter and sabotage 

i succumb to within 

as i reach out my senses

malicious they din

but my conscious is still sound 

it still slits me open 

 

 

please excuse my sin-ridden skin 

as my limbs long for forgiveness

but too often cave in 

they transgress with no set backs 

spoil the carcass’s within

stones have served less carvings

a fixed, malignant grin 

 

 

please excuse me

and my sin-ridden skin 

though i fathom your loathsome 

i wish you’d be more open 

these marks can’t be rubbered

for i’ve erred far too greatly:

i am merely human 

 

Lagniappe

Our friendship was a lagniappe 

nothing more than a strategic necessity 

a well-thought out dexterity 

mastered beaming-forgery 

when we were jaded internally. 

 

Our friendship was a lagniappe 

a child of circumstance, nothing more 

a temporary remedy for permanent sores 

not mandatory- although was true 

instead of happiness, bore a taste of rue. 

 

Our friendship was a lagniappe 

a treat, ulteriorly, much more 

but for each his own-  to the core

convinced we cared, convinced we could

God knows, though, that we never would.

 

Our friendship was a lagniappe

and wrapped so eloquently too

its ribbons strangle, set constraints 

yet with arms bundled behind my back 

I can’t help but think of how I miss you. 

  

 

Albatross (Poem)

Just so you know, an albatross is a type of bird and “albatross around my neck” is an idiom for guilt- it refers to Coleridge’s ancient poem about killing an albatross and hanging it around his neck as a sign of guilt for everyone to see

 

 

I never knew 

how heavy an albatross was 

until my shoulders felt the feathers 

and the ground suddenly seemed to be rising

towards my face

 

I never knew

how heavy an albatross was

until it wrung my scruff- lungs dried

and the atmosphere suddenly seemed so distant

from where I was

 

I never knew 

how heavy an albatross was 

until I had them numbered- intertwining loops

a sin-ridden scarf

I could no longer ignore 

 

I never knew 

how heavy an albatross was

until I saw it through other eyes 

my muscles straining, aching

yet still, unnoticed

 

I never really knew 

how heavy an albatross was 

until I saw mine around her neck 

her shoulders giving in  

because of me