i’m really goddamn fed up
of trying and failing to
wear my heart on my sleeve.
i no longer want to live
in fear of keeping it exposed
where it can get
bumped and bruised.
i want to tear it off
and
force it down your throat.
i want you
to taste the regret in my
blood and finally know
how long its been marinating.
mother, the sea
is calling out for me;
don’t you hear it through
the windows? and i
want nothing more
than to see it’s every shore
i want to be
under every inch
of the sky, wherever it
ends.
i want to walk
on every stone,
every road,
every blade
of grass. but
there are more grains
of sand in this world
than there are seconds
in my life and i am
already running out of time.
i shouldn’t have let him
close the door.
everyone knows nothing
good happens to young girls
behind closed doors
and yet i wasn’t thinking
about freedom when i heard
the lock click. i was all dolled up
for the camera.i heard your voice in my head,
saying you wouldn’t let
him touch me.
but the door closed and
you couldn’t see
where his hands were sliding.
i was
just another day at work.
just another photoshoot.
just another.i wonder if
he knows my body
has become a shrine to
the emptiness
he thrust within me.
i wonder if he cares
that i’ve flinched under
every pair of hands
since.i wonder if he remembers
my name.
we are chiseled
from clouds to be
strong yet fragile. we must
weep, but we must
comfort those who are
weeping also. our lives
cannot be any
messier than the kitchen counter
before having guests over.
we must always make
a good impression.
we will be everything
so you don’t have to be,
and we will still be weak
in your eyes.
ripe fruit may bruise more easily, but it is infinitely sweeter.
a hug is
not a luxury when all
one hundred and thirty five
of your family
members live in the
same city in the desert and
you’ve called your mom’s
best friend ‘aunty Ani’ since
before you knew
she didn’t share the same
blood.
we exchange a
currency of kisses in
this microcosm of handwoven hotplates.
fifty of your closest relatives
come over for Christmas, and yet
the house is much too quiet
without your uncle here this year.
love is not lacking
in this house. it is thrown
around like loose change.
it is in every crevice
between the kitchen tiles,
behind every child’s ear. it is
something you feel long
before you learn to define
it. it is
in every molecule of
air that engulfs us.
‘i love you’ is just a verbal expression of an emotion. it is not a promise that they will not hurt you. it is not a promise that they will love you forever. it is not a promise that they will never leave. it is not a promise of anything.
sometimes i think about all the people i could have fallen in love with if i had just been brave enough.
i’d never in my life so much as dipped my pinky in a glass of wine, but my god, i was drunk on you. i was the kind of drunk where you can’t string together a sentence for the life of you and yet you reach for the vodka anyway. you were my first gasp of air after holding my breath for three years. i consumed you hungrily; you let me depend on you.
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.
Silenticel 