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#996676
thesis super rough draft
Style Article Rewritten
i. celestial body
it is quiet in there
in that global atmosphere
where her aesthetic lies
it is quiet like a
flock of eyelashes sighing
through infinity
under the weight of
astronomical expectations.
meteors make no sound
as they dangle from her ears,
set aflame on her cue
despite the lack of oxygen
(she does not breathe oxygen
she breathes the snowy
diamonds of Saturn’s climate)
it is quiet in there
in that vacuum of
pressurized perfection,
with pollution so thick
she cannot feel her own (deserving) breath
(she does not know when she is breathing
she does not know when her blood is pulsing
and there are no shortcuts to these answers
because the corners she might cut
are constantly morphing)
pollution so thick she cannot see her vapor
rise to the iridescent comet clutter
it is quiet in there
in that black hole of conformity
she knows nothing about
yet knows so intimately
it is quiet in there
but it is too loud to move
to exercise agency of any kind
even in her self-made heaven
it consumes
ii. outer layer
mine is standoffish,
accidentally shy
there is not much room
for first impressions. they
glisten through my galaxy
like ceramic particles—one side
showy and attractive
the other dull and crumbly
hers is guarded, with an undercurrent
of viciousness and self-preservation
like a star of space glass
unique and trembling next
to the sun but not without
a sense of direction.
it is embedded
in her underarm and has been
since she first got cat called at age
12. she understands its protective
objective and considers it comprehensively
within her sphere:
weather (will there be meteors again?)
where the distance of a light year from the threshold of the bedroom door will land her
the precise temperature of the sun and its idiosyncratic impact on each planet, each piece of existing space junk
the outer asteroid belt of her sphere and all the possibilities of how each rock within it will treat her today
whether or not her tides will obey the gravitational force of her moon
the unquestionable extraterrestrials monitoring her every move
this is not an exhaustive list, only her most weighted daily considerations
they revolve around expectations and contradictions
which is not the only thing we have in common (but by far the most remarkable)
iii. cataclysmic event
a McDonald’s French fry
from the bottom of its greasy cardboard holder
f
a
l
l
s
from your glistening fingertip and
lands.
between the console and the driver’s seat
right
where it will
n
e
v
e
r
be retrieved
you worked out
you did SQUATS for that motherfucking fry
you worked hard for this gluttonous I mean
glorious moment of satisfaction,
unlike any satisfaction known to humankind
Choking back tears you lick your lips
in longing and consider the alternate ending
as a meteor crashes on the hood of the 1998 honda civic hatchback in the lane next to you
a pitiful tear falls from your cheek in this moment as you
realize how closely you relate with the pile of annihilated metal
entangled with unexpected depression and a touch of muted rage
you snap a picture and begin to sob as your eyes trail back to the
long lost fry, salty particles beckoning you from the devious trench
traffic is stopped and relief washes over you as the honda bursts
into a tower of flames with its driver jailed inside
people rushing with flushed faces
sirens in the background to add to the chaos
in all this urgency you have managed to recuse
your slightly mangled savory sweetheart
you have manifested your alternate ending
an ant has already made its way to the treasure
but you cherish it unconditionally like your very own child
IV. Moment of Reflection
She punctures her pressurized presence with a single atom of agency and she is the only survivor.
Apocalypse has never sounded as fragile as the twinkling diamonds that rain around her.
Fire permeates every invisible boundary and ignites her confidence like the Sun’s solar flares reaching for expansion.
This is not an ecosystem fit for corporeal beings. Her transcendence is the only source of light.
Her outer layer has combusted, the magnitude of her core burning so bright it must be assigned an ambiguous measurement of infinitely negative value.
She is the energy source of the big bang but she does not allow things to simply fall into place.
She is accompanied by only the soil, composed of unpolished diamonds of varying sizes and the full spectrum of color emanating from each gem.
Detrimental to existence but fundamental for her own. Everything is made of diamonds and they become completely ordinary.
She punctures her pressurized presence with a single sharp atom of agency.
And this is how she ceases: her own apocalypse.
But bubbles this big take time to pop.
One by one, men spontaneously combusted every time she opened the door for them.
(not done yet super messy rn)
The Mentally Ill Empath
Self-Doubt is the only shopping mall
in her thriving metropolis, Anxiety
it features brand names
like Low Self-Esteem
Perfection Mask
White Thin Apparel
Empty Self-Care
Sometimes she is the Mayor of Anxiety.
Sometimes she is a volunteer at the local Humane Society.
Sometimes she does not know where she is.
Sometimes genuine is the only thing she is.
Sometimes she sticks her hand out to introduce herself
but her language is limited to only one word.
“Genuine! Genuinegenuine, genuine?”
Between the Lines of Cosmopolitan
Check your sanity at the door please
(What little you have left)
because this is a place of completion
where outside influences are strictly
prohibited. (Pictures allowed but ONLY
with the flash. The aesthetic is crucial.)
All we are asking is that you slice off
your atrocious lack of thigh gap. We recommend
an Exacto knife for this, just make sure
to have some styptic powder ready.
All we are asking is that you brush
your teeth with baking soda to
bring out the pearliest white.
We recommend eating gentle foods
because your beaming enamel will
be fragile.
All we are asking is that you work
out twice daily for three hours and
exceed the recommended 10,000
steps a day by about four times.
All we are asking is that you abandon
your idiosyncrasies and tell them,
with one cocktail in each hand,
you will be back in the morning.
We recommend you do not ever return.
All we want is to abduct
your self-worth and place it in a test
tube with the rest of the useless
positivity that gets you through each day.
Standards of Conduct
Section I. The “Self”
A. Eye contact with reflection in every reflective surface
B. Refusal of local, national, international news to sprout and nourish self-ignorance (disable mobile device, impeccable filtration of friends and pages on Facebook)
C. Flawlessness in every sense, with a foundation of:
a. entitlement
b. numbness
c. amputated self-agency
Section II. Attention Given to Anyone Other than “Self”
A. Politeness
a. excessive small talk (especially family)
b. minimal emotional connection (those that can achieve no emotional connection with others will automatically be awarded exclusive VIP membership, see section V.)
B. Obedience
a. to these standards
b. to superiors
Section III. Exercise and Nourishment
your monthly rest day should include at least 6 of these activities
a. mountain climbers everywhere you go
b. lunges on your way to the doctor
c. crunches on your way to work
d. jumping jacks at Easter brunch to avoid awkward silences
e. squats on your way to the bar with the 11th first date of the week
f. weight lifting with watermelons and pork chops at the grocery store
g. bicep curls through your nightly 6 hours of sleep
h.
Section IV. Love
A. Of oneself: N/A
B. Of others: N/A
C. Of these standards: eternal.
Section V. VIP Status
A. Eligibility to apply for rewards program
a. Rewards program: a monthly walk through a rose garden, blooming with bees and life depending on the season, with one (1) selected significant other that will hold your hand and silently accompany you through the garden as you become weary of nature’s potent fumes like a praying mantis’ stunned body after its female mate decapitates him.
This program can only be maintained by upholding these standards and the vital emotional apathy as to not excite the roses and pester the bees. Daily reevaluation by program officials required.
Sign with the name you wish you had HERE:
________________________________
Date with last time you cried HERE:
__________________________
Missing: Selena’s Pores
She appears so cool calm and collected
as her pores scream wildly at the top of her
skin LET ME OUT I CAN’T BREATHE
they have been kidnapped and all
the local news channels have been notified
the police station has filed a missing persons report
even though more than 20 thousand have disappeared
but they do not take it seriously
they joke about it as they sit at their
desks facing one another with their
badges in their right hands and their dicks in the other
the pores cannot breathe under a smothering
foundation and a dust of dirt even their
pussy retaliations cannot attract attention
it has been nearly 24 hours
since their last drink of water and the
dehydration is making them delusional
their hallucinations manifest where else
they would rather be
under the sun
with a tall glass of ice water in hand
they all want the same thing
toes in the sand enjoying the exfoliation
kissing and caressing their circular neighbors tucked so
closely to their roundness with no task
other than to be alive
I am the only one still searching for them
police say they do not have time to search for
an entire face full of pores
Selena gets paid to smile and act like this
is as whole as she has ever felt
she won’t repeat
the mistake that overflows
with thrill as each and every
second exceeds the previous one in length
her lips drown in the mixture of
nostalgia and insecurities
it tastes like
lemonade made from
real true Californian lemons,
salt instead of sugar.
when it spills it is not sticky
it is smooth and invisible
like puddle of whirling air
its healing properties
can bring the swelling down
in a sprained limb
is viscosity is limited and
constantly shape shifts
into is holder’s form
she does not like the taste
of it she does not like how
each sip gets saltier
and brighter she does not
prefer this opaque golden
silk but she prefers it
over the repulsive stench
and rejuvenation of
apple cider vinegar
but this is an individual case
for some this juice is
tragic, like expired poison
has filled their lungs
and suffocated
their will to live
for some it is refreshing
to recall the taste
of mortality
like a stream of blood running
from the nose into the mouth
for some it is addictive
a sea-salty drip in the back
of the throat
unparalleled by
any other refreshment
for some it is powerful
like the inorganic
necessity of
insecticides on a lemon
orchard waiting to
exterminate
field of follicles
a luscious field of golden wheat shivers in the wind as we drive by and
I shiver at the thought of explaining my silence
she drives as I fret
should I say something
she stops at a red light and the CD switches tracks
should I let her know
now it is too late as she raises her hand to put on the radio
why I am not okay with
another chance gobbled up by indecision
being shamed for having hair
her demeanor is safe sweet kind until now
should I risk my well being
she calculates out loud how much longer we have until we arrive
should I purposely collapse into my soggy cardboard self
she says it will only be another 12 minutes
filled with the emptiness of rain-rotted vulnerability
now she says we are here and she parks in the middle of a blooming field of clover
how will she react how will I react to her reaction how will she react to my reaction of her reaction
I am not a political advertisement unless you make me one I breathe silently
the clover reciprocates my breath and blows fuchsia perfume through her gray hairs
rule breakers
maybe this is how i will come out to my family
hand them a neatly bound chapbook
with nothing but the poems and their titles
no foreword no dedication not even a table of contents
nothing but text, black and white
just how my father prefers to think
many of the edgy girls in cosmopolitan are queer
these are the ones that “break the rules” the “badass babes”
they wear bold make up and a perfect set of brows
they all make out with each other and never respond to
invitations, nor do they reciprocate them
this is what makes them “badass babes”
none of them predicted they would all end up in
a three page cosmopolitan article that would
replace their queerness with edginess
maybe this is how i will come out to my family
I should speak with a cosmopolitan representative after I
finish writing this. it could be good. it will just have
to be published in black and white for my father
Conversations with a Mirror From Four Prespectives
A Perfectionist
I am not.
I’m simply
Attracted
To details
And like to
Take my time
Because my
Work ethic
Tells me to.
Failure
Is something
I am not
Familiar
With because
It is not
An option.
I am a
Quarry and
Perfection
Is my quaint
Bulldozer.
Not a single
Pebble will
Go untouched.
A Narcissist
Do not tell me what
I am
I know myself better than anyone and
I also know that my conversations only
begin by interrupting someone else
every time without fail
I immediately retract the
piece of interjection offered and
redirect it to the empath in me
and ask her why do
I think that is okay?
but
she is always sleeping or sobbing or embracing
someone that does not understand.
if she is awake she glares and I force
an apology from my lips to relieve her gaze.
I interrupt people to ask if they have
seen my new shirt do you like it?
everyone always says yes as if
they understand how exquisite
my style is but they will never
understand how exquisite
I am
especially in comparison to them.
A Masochist
i like to drink
a cup of nails
in the morning
just before work
and every half hour
after that. i like the
way it tastes on my
throbbing tongue
how it reverses
the healing of the
anxiety-induced
sores in my mouth
they are like
leeches on my gums
it stings but i like
the interruption
of numbness and
the vivid dreams it grants
i like the detox
of happiness
the lack of joy
is the only thing
that fills me
A Conformist
I am a unanimous set
of songs that plays on repeat
in the background of everything
I do and I do not look up unless
the person on either side of
me does first.
This, however, requires
observational skill and sometimes
I am too skilled in this area to be
considered whole. As long as
I do not implement any
critical thinking skills I will thrive.
but
when I see a fire flicker
in the paper shredder
5.38 feet away from my cubicle
it is hard to ignore. I wait until
the heat peels the paint off of
all the walls within a 10 foot radius
to react because otherwise I might
set the whole office on fire with my
chaos.
Skin Enhancing Lotion
that skin you were born in?
oh yes you may revive it
we have been waiting for you.
this system is almost like the
first step of addiction
recovery
it must be the user’s idea to
get help
but in this case you are not
addicted to drugs (although
you may as well be)
you are addicted to averageness
and body positivity
you need help
oh yes back to this skin of yours
it rests in a microscopic cage
it is not old enough to be potty-
trained and we like it that way
because its helplessness is so pure.
do not let it grow. do not let it learn.
certainly do not let it show signs of
learning because really, as we like to think,
aging is the physical manifestation of knowledge.
Subtleties
Lately I have been
conflating “subtle”
and “supple”
how would you problem solve
if your schemas relied only
on the way things sounded
rather than what they meant
and this is the root of the problem
because even the word “meant” sounds
a whole lot like “mint” and “root”
sounds exactly like “route”
depending on your dialectical preference
is there room for preference
in interpretation
or is that the dictionary definition
for bias
the socialized great uncle of preference
they sound unrelated but the differences
in their meanings are subtle
subtle enough to be synonyms? not likely
supple enough to split like cells
during mitosis? closer
like the way “woman” sounds closer to “human” than “man” does
is the “wo-” what makes her as supple as the generalizations of her? or is it only a subtle construction of meaningless boxes?
suppleness is not a qualification for womanhood but a prerequisite for softness subtly and strength.
A Love Story (this is a placeholder title suggestions welcome)
There is a single hair centered on each of my big toes. They usually average about 3/4” long. Dark and wispy like a raven’s very first set of feathers.
Sometimes they are in conversation with one another. Usually they complain about how cold they are but today they asked me to trim them. This was very unlike them. I misunderstood (as I usually do with the language of my body hair) and plucked each one from its little hill of skin. The task came with ease. Something close to relief.
6 days later they were long enough to talk again. And they were livid. They spoke as if I could not hear them. I overheard them discuss the fact that they do not have strength in numbers but their roots had grown stronger than ever, especially since I had plucked them. They said they would never be the same. Coarser. Darker. Rugged. They might even multiply, which apparently was not in their 10 year plan.
Scab
Growing back thicker and more deeply set each time, I must admit I am getting worried. It has been over a year since the accident, yet it will not leave me. (This may be the only thing I have ever wanted [this desperately] to leave me.)
The process goes something like this:
1. I pick and scratch like I’m digging out a banana’s tiny, gray bruise.
2. I repeat this until an edge deviates from the rest of me. A crunchy skin tag.
3. Time to peel! I clasp the edge between my dusty thumbnail and index fingernail.
4. Pull. Pull. Pull. Tug. Increments of aging.
5. I take a break. Breathe through it.
6. Pull. Pull. Pull. Tug. Like the sticker off of a moldy brae burn.
7. Here it is. I have been waiting for you.
8. I analyze this small memento of myself like a close reading exercise. Tenfold the meaning of any poem.
9. I must consume it in order to regenerate it. Entire placentas are eaten, so why not a sprinkle of skin? It is dry in my mouth but only on one side. Dry and structured like a fleshy diamond. I would compare it to a particle of rock candy, sans sugar, but it is so much more nutritious than that. I roll it over in my mouth with a wave of saliva. Now I can enjoy the best part. Rich and chewy, potent with flavor. Like a single bacon bit. When I am eager and harvest too soon it oozes a coppery syrup. When I am preoccupied and harvest too late it hardens like a residual drop of glaze in a ceramic oven. When I am attentive and harvest punctually its frosting is like scarlet creamy peanut butter, smeared on its brittle boat.
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