Blood on my lips
There is blood on my lips.
Rather, there is blood on your lips.
You foist blame on yourself, second person.
There is a ghost in your room.
Rather, there are several ghosts.
Recline one way, feel the weight of lead glass in your soda-can hand; Dawn streaks your early-eve room; the neatly made hotel bed is your messy bed sheets. It is summer and winter and spring at once.
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Recline another, and old voices replace the music; your bedroom office chair creaks with long-gone weight. You are as silent as ever.
Pace your room, stir up dust, fold blankets without memory of how they became displaced.
There is a youth in your closet, eyes matching yours, draped in your finery. There is a youth on your bed, nervous hands with your dexterity, skin mottled after yours.
There is blood on his lips; a nervous habit borne of dehydration. There is blood on your lips; a nervous habit borne of years. There is blood on my lips; there are ghosts in my room.
Author's note.
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This has got to be one of my favorite poems that I've written! It's about memory, it's about dermatillomania, it's about being transgender and growing up. It is about the realization that in spite of your scars, you're still here.
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The scene is, entirely, three similar memories overlaying themselves. A memory of a fine party, attended when the speaker was a young girl, a memory of a heavy conversation, and the present day, where the young man cleans his room. All connected with the thread of an unfortunate habit that has endured throughout the years, and how you cannot get rid of yourself.
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I think my favorite detail is the speaker finally accepting, implicitly, that all the ghosts and memories are himself. Yes, he's scarred and bleeding and getting worse, and yes he's scared, but things might get better.
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This is based on a true story; if anyone's ever seen me, i'm covered in scars from picking at my skin and lips, and I can confidently say that I'm getting better. I cannot confidently say that the same fate is true for our narrator. While I hope the same is true of you, dear reader, i can't say that for certain, either.
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