Untitled by Anthy Strom
Try explaining this to someone who loves you:
My mind is full of bees, it's a hive, it's a
Sieve, drip drip dripping leaking out all my
Everything and at this point I can't tell
If it's because of the father, the son, or the holy ghost
The phantom mantle of Golden Eldest Child bruising my throat
My father's addictions punching holes through the family dynamic
Or my own disjunctions, rearing their head in this
Rare moment of peace, I stand in the eye of a hula-hooping hurricane- always
When trauma hits, it hits hard- it doesn't pull punches
I've been scrambled enough times to know that by now, my
Heart, my heart- even now, with all its scabs and pus
It aches for the reflection of myself I see in a stranger's eyes
Whole unbroken unbruised- still odd, people
Pick up on that fact fast but closer to a demi-god than primordial chaos incarnate
Child of (c)Z(r)E(o)U(n)S(o)!(s)
My feet sheathed in golden sandals
They’re jealous because they think I'm going somewhere, they see me running
And they don't realize it's away, not towards-no, I’m nothing like that
It's a facade, an illusion ha-ha tricked you into believing I was a functional human being!
In reality, I’m EMR rattling round the universe, bouncing inside of a yogurt container
Trying to find the holes God poked in the top so I can blow this popsicle stand
“I’ve always really enjoyed this poem. I scrawled it over scrap paper in a pitch black basement because I didn't want to forget the words -or turn on the lights. It hasn't changed much over the couple of years I’ve tried to get it published. I eventually tossed it into my scrap pile because you can only send out a poem so many times before the rejection pangs (/major organ failure) set in.”
Anthy Strom is a writer based in Sackville N.B. Their work has appeared in 805 and The Parliamentary Literary Magazine. They are currently trying to obtain a Bachelors of Economics, although it is a constant battle against the urge to run away and become a feral hermit.