ADA MARICIA PATTERSON
Antoinette
broken and resolved
in the red room
she lives in earshot of a
cruelty of husbands fucking our
chambermaids
in this the hold the attic
that keeps us most undressed
and toothless and
don’t know a day when
sun shone last
you left her back in the good place anywhere else not here
thinking she could be pocketed
sun in hand
as if you wouldn’t burn up
as if char and in-cin-e-ra-tion were
not words in your creole
as if you could never be
a great house on fire as if that
wasn’t written in your blood
skin persuasion and your “that sort
of thing” situation
you clamp down your teeth
mousetrapping a lie or at least
what feels like one
what feels like sin and secret
mad colours buried
in your backyard body
like dog bones and dead pets and
shameless sex toys
you want to know why
the life you live has no “F”
that’s how they spell it
deception dishonesty really
should’ve told me before we kissed
before we touched and met and fucked
and choked and spat up murder on his
stupid dick
should’ve should’ve
before we even spoke
told me
who I thought you’re not
told me so I could excuse myself
most repugnantly
and all debonair
and sly
it didn’t matter how much lie
he did bite down on as he ate your breast
hoping to draw milk blood
and a piece of me all the same
why are men so obsessed with tits
did it really make a difference to tell you so
before you could waste a chance on me?
brokenness is what we do
because piece is all you want
never all
never whole just hole to
throw your waist into like every
other next garbage man
tell him so
tell him so
tell him where to carry his ass
tell him ‘bout his mother
him who was certainly not raised
to respect a woman like me
split apart wood from nail woman
by expectations, assumptions and
soft
yet rude awakenings
he was certainly not prepared
not quite grown enough
to accept her without entitlement
without fearful wrist holdings
and locked up dresses burning out
of control
“I’m not comfortable,” he moans
as if it means anything but
stop
what about my comfort
if she jumped
any dollar store homosexual
will call himself sickening
yet don’t know one fuck
about being so beautiful
that men want to make you disappear
I can’t do it anymore
such a deranging feeling
to be so terrifically hated
yet so loved and desired all
the same
I wake up shot down
every god gone day
and text my bestie
for proof of life
then we cackle like old young
hens do
delirious
from dodging all the wrong kinds
of glances
the doctor he gave us the same face
more or less
approachable close enough to be
hunted
first, do no harm
they promise
as they turn us into forsaken fuckable women
the wrong kind of girl can’t be
harmed or raped
the women’s movement hammers on
I am a nail
trying to run
but nails don’t have legs
nasty girl
it curls off his tongue too easy
pushing more of him into
you like nail in a coffin
the wrong kind of girl doesn’t need
a mouth to speak
just a head hole
with firm grip
no teeth
could I learn to fly
if I jumped
from the highest battlement
and dreamt of softer landings
a good man hard to come by
gave me chocolate pudding once
when I wanted to jump
out of my skin
and I couldn’t help myself
I bawled my eyes
out of my head
it was too painful
too much like a
knife of burning sugar
the reminder
that I too could deserve kindness
so sweet and simple
like sad girl chocolate pudding
my mouth chomping down for dear life
I have become something so hard trying to survive
could I deserve more
kindnesses please
like a nail
learning how to fly
hitting the ground no longer running
can I be soft too
if I jumped?
