It will feel like nothing // I want to be eaten

two hunger poems (but aren't they all?)

I wake up hungry. It never used to be this way. 
I wake up and my head aches my heart aches my legs ache. 
Everything, everything, aches. Anger. Is that it? Frustration? 

All the darkness in a body. 

All of it. All at once. Minor chords emanating from my tongue. 
Black coffee bitterness. 

there is no, no 
escaping this and
I’m not trying. Giving in. 
Not, I give up,
woe is me,
you poor little thing 
        — I just 
   surrender it — 
        resistance. 
Become the things 
   rearranging me. 

The gold, yesterday,
it was a lie. I’m sorry.
Everything is black and 
        bruised
and don't worry, I’ll show you. 
It will feel like nothing. 

see if you can catch my slip on this one… was it on purpose? was it not?

Sometimes I write poetry 
purely to feel 
crimson ink 
soaking ivory.
I write to feel this
tender space of my fingers
— the space that yearns for
softened days and
a long, slow flame
in a lamplit room —
the space that 
    fears she’s
drained the 
        magic
  of all her 
    memories.

Soften

When 
will I smile again?
An upturned lip
wants only 
to show you
here we are.

                I am tired  
— of smiling
fake smiles —
I am 
tired
— of being
strong —
I am
tired 
— of doing

and gripping 
          — and trying 
  
and what 
I want is 
— to be taken.

I am not hungry in the usual way.
I want to become translucent skin
— you can see straight into me.
I want to be weightless. Waves
drenched in warm moonlight.

I want to drink ancient liquid 
from your lips, and as your fingers
trace my stories, I’ll
turn into a million
little stars, each one you’ll kiss
before its rise into the 
violet evening.

I want to be eaten.

are you hungry? me too. feed yourself more goodness with a paid subscription.
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xx faye