BLISTER & GROWING PAINS

blister. n: An immoral woman. ‘She’s a blister.’ 

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There’s this habit of mine: to walk through a blister, 

to not cave to hunger, to blow my nose until there’s blood (never waver) 

  

I feel the sting — attempted fire — almost electric 

sparks on the back of my feet that pinch but not without the  

  

slightest pleasantry. The longer you withstand it, the number it becomes —  

I almost forget that the layers of my skin are being crudely separated  

  

There is but a simple fire under my feet, prompting my haste 

I keep a smile on my pretty face – I'm used to this 

  

But my blistered heels are untamed and devious 

One blows up at me: a yellow sap sack — aphid egg 

  

The other, quiet in its malice, demurely sheds its white shroud 

Soft, baby pink — newborn freshness — kindly naked 

  

I point my feet and feel the wrinkles of skin knock together like wood blocks 

I flex and feel them expand, split, tug — tectonic timelapse — empire collapse 

  

I created these two devils — split pair: red herring and seductress 

Am I truly my own biggest torment—  

  

I will not walk on holy ground, though I’m damned to wear bear feet  

There occurred to me no other choice than bearing godless sting 

 

The point I’m making doesn’t matter – I'm certain it's been made 

Never stopping — break your body— 

 

I make all suffering divine. 

 

 

Growing pains 

 

Latex skin, starving joints — it doesn’t change 

Stretched thin like gum, perpetually short of a bubble 

 

Grown men love to play — hyde and seek, collecting dolls 

This little girl tries so hard to fit into her dad’s suit.  

 

They both blink. 

Blinded by your own damn mouth —  

The right attire is no absolution. 

They both dread. 

 

This lonely man is a colic crier — is it too late? — 

And can you, little one, breathe wearing that tie? 

 

I know it's time to grow up like you... 

But I’d rather waste it childishly…