Sunday, April 30, 2017

There is something satisfying in the crack of a finger.

If words could explain it, I'd write them.
But there are no words.
It merely is.

There is a certain satisfaction that comes with brandishing yourself.

If nothing else, it's salaciously humorous.
To watch them bite back their tongues.
But they asked for it.

There is nothing more painful than bending back a finger.

Some might say a migraine, a third-degree burn, perhaps as far as a bullet wound.
But a little shock can make the world of a difference in practice.
With fingers, there is just enough pain at the threshold.

There is nothing in the world more humiliating than brandishing yourself.

To have all of their eyes ravenously studying your innermost self.
Scrutinizing your parts like an open clock on a table.
But you have a point to prove.

So you give away little pieces of yourself each time, hoping it won't hurt next time.

But they take more than you brandish; they bend back your fingers.
All you can do is hope you're proving your point.
The pain is your statement.

Is it worth it?


  1. I notice how your poems continue to experiment with structure. Keep up the exquisite work.

    1. Thank you for noticing!! I really want to get out of the "four line stanza block" I've been trapped in for God knows how long. :)