Vulgarity
From afar, it looks vulgar.
Androgyny, the eagle, sits atop my hips, hunched over, silver knife hidden.
Sharp-clawed fingers pull into my collarbone, like a rope of ruthless rubies.
There is no air in my lungs, the tip of the knife finds-
my collarbone
my sternum
the midpoint between the last two ribs
my hips
Like a vulture, like a vengeance, they feast. Fingers sort through my skin, cries fall on deaf ears.
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A thumb runs over my ribs, like a thumb along my jaw.
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Like a jaw, I am made to open.
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Body twitching, they claim their prize.
From afar, who notices the ropes of ruby, the largest gem pulled from it’s ivory setting?
Dismount, push together. breathe, be glad. you didn’t die, tonight.
“Get up,” as if it’s the only thing they will remove. Tomorrow yields the same.
Author's note.
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I think a lot about prometheus. There's a lot of metaphorical potential in that guy; about what feasts upon you as pentance. This is an older poem of mine, but I'm still pretty fond of it. I won't be telling you what it's about, as most people who've seen it all had something that they took away on their own. A poem about prometheus alone. A poem about an abusive relationship. A poem about being nonbinary, and how painful it is to fit yourself into a box you don't fit in, just to be believed about something you know is true. A poem about regret. An erotic work. Mad ramblings that I formatted into pretty words.
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I'll leave it up to the reader as to what this is about, but I will say that my favorite line is the last; if only because I had a lot of fun writing it, and loading it with implication. The wheel has no end, the liver will grow back, the eagle will visit again. Fun, right?