Double Birth, One Curse.

I arose from the dust, in the very beginning of time 

But I was birthed again. And the second time you’ll see, 

I was born as a Mother, with another's rib in mine.

I was given one command, but perhaps I’ll decline.

Wasn’t I born autonomously,

Arising the dust, in the spark of time?

He was, in a sense, my opposite, when assisting the crime,

But in structure, blood, and ribs, like me, 

And I was born as a Mother, with another's rib in mine.

I asked myself: Why be deprived of a fruit so fine?

I fell soon after I lept for it, thirstfully.

I arose from the dust, in the spark of time 

His voice sounded human when he spoke the lying line,

When I was tripped, I couldn’t help but see

I was born as a Mother, with another's rib in mine.

I was tossed out of Eden due to my decline.

You inherit my curse. Future, changed with but a tree 

From the dust, in the spark of time. 

I was born as a Mother, with another's rib in mine.

Cleansing Instrument

He brushes his teeth

every night. 

He texted me 

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth!” 

I laughed. 

You don’t need to brush your teeth 

every single night. 

You can skip a night or two

if you’re really tired. 

But he persisted. 

He insisted that teeth-brushing 

was much more than a mindless motion.

It’s a commitment to make to yourself 

each night,

4AM and exhausted,

Or into bed early 

to tackle the morning sun head-on. 

Droopy eye’d and slumped over the sink, 

It doesn’t matter.

You can still pick up a brush. 

The rhythmic sounds fills the nighttime air. 

The bristled bow 

Makes its way across 

Every shimmering chord

In your jaw.  

a song to yourself.

I see the blue guitarist eyes

peer back at themselves in the mirror,

as you begin

unpacking the music of the day 

into the sink. 

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh,

Splat. 

It’s time to get rid of the plaque 

and toxicity 

That has been accumulating  

throughout the day.

You don’t want to take 

all that with you

to sleep

tonight.

You’re tired, but you fight 

a simple rebellion

against every thought

that tells you you’re not worth 

the two minutes it takes 

to take care of yourself 

and end the day off right. 

This is your weapon. 

This is your toothbrush.

I marveled as I watched you turn

the seemingly mindless activity 

into pure magic 

right before my eyes. 

You texted me: “don’t forget to brush your teeth!” 

But I was already flossing. 

Image

In middle school I was cool because I didn’t eat lunch. 

I remember this rite of passage felt dishonest,

But I couldn’t articulate why. 

So I let the girls who has refused to look at me sit with me 

And eat my lunch. 

And admire my refusal of it. 

It didn’t dawn on me that I could share the reason why, 

The medicine I took in the morning, 

And the nausea I felt all afternoon because of it. 

But twelve year old girls saw this as a superpower

And a free lunch. 

I remember sneaking into the bunkhouse

Early mornings, after breakfast, before activities at sleepaway camp

To get some cookies, doctor’s orders. 

I was sworn to secrecy by equal parts humiliation

And enjoying the attention.

And resenting the attention. 

I wish I could have articulated why I thought it was wrong-

The toxic notions swallowed 

From their parent’s dinner table chatter. 

I wish had known they didn’t really like me

Before they took the all uneaten kit kats from my backpack 

And tore up the nerdy book 

I embarrassingly brought to their house 

When I was invited.

But our worlds were hazier then, 

And we were all just following what we knew and what we wanted to be. 

So was I, 

And my secret pills.