if you saw me today,
would you still think
i was beautiful?
if you saw my shaved
head and trembling hands,
would you still
not stay?
if i walked by you
now, in a shirt and slacks,
would you even realize
you had kissed these
unpainted lips?
if you saw me today, would
you be grateful you left
me?
I. this turkey is testing
my patience and
i’m not sure how
many more times i can hear
people ask me what i’ve done with my hair
before i burn
out.II. 21 years ago, you thought
you ate too much stuffing. but
instead of indigestion,
you ended up in a hospital room.
you said it felt like i was tearing
you apart. i was tearing you apart
from the inside the second
i knew i wanted out.III. you buy me a traditional
Armenian dress, mistaking my wince
for a smile. so i try it on for you all
the while wanting to unroll my tongue:
to explain that though i know i am
yours in my bones and my blood
and the color of my eyes,
i am also myself and i don’t quite know
where i belong amongst
antiquated pronouns because
i am not quite ‘she’ nor ‘he,’
but nothing in between exists
to my mother
tongue.IV. the headdress doesn’t quite fit
under my locs.
‘what a shame’ you say
‘what a shame.’V. My tongue is on fire and
every word i learned in
Armenian Saturday school is being
burnt off
with my taste buds.
you’re too young to be hiding
in the closet
full of clothes your
mother bought you.you’re too young to
hate yourself so much
that you dream of hiding
in there forever, just so you
never again have to wear a dress
on Easter.you’re too old
to be living as anything but
what paints your stomach lining.
project it in color on city walls.
scream it drunkenly off of rooftops
to the whole world, a reminder:your tiny planet will
never stop spinning as long as you
continue to push it.
Silenticel 