For MC, who knows why

[carose59]

This Isn't a Poem About Flowers


Here's why art is magical
dangerous
(because I'm sure you were wondering),
why words on paper are never safe--
not even the safe ones.

The sweet, safe, couldn't-hurt-you stories lull you into a false sense of security.
They make you think the next one can't hurt you--

Hurt is the wrong word.

They make you think there are no serious bumps
and that happy endings are all there are.

They don't prepare you for the one that backs you into a dark alley,
sticks its tongue in your mouth,
sticks other things . . . other places
until you're breathless and blushing and ready to explode--

Explode is the wrong word.

Until you're ready to cum.

(I'm not talking about sex stories
necessarily
I'm talking about stories that fuck you.)


I'm going to quit talking about "you" now (like we ever were).
I'm going to talk about me (like we always were--though we're talking about you, too).

I've been romanced by stories, and I've been mugged by them. I've been assaulted by some, too.

And then there are those stories that have seduced me,
said,
"You gotta have this,
You can't live without this--
I am going to change your life."

And they have.
God, have they ever.


When a story does that--

--changes me--

--it always does it the exact same way:

it shows me myself.


Not a glamour shot, not myself the way I wish I was.
No, it shows me myself how I really am:

naked,
all my lies and self-delusions on the floor,
sweaty,
panting,
spread wide,
drooling,
crying,
dripping tears and snot--
hair everywhere
(nothing shaved or plucked or waxed)
fat--not cellulite--fat showing.

Everything showing.

So exposed, I'd scare Playboy.

It feels like the whole world is looking, but it's much, much worse than that:
it's me that's looking.
I can see myself,
I can see myself,
everything I've never wanted to look at,
it's all right there in the words.

And you know the scary, bewildering, unbelievable thing?
In those words, I look beautiful.
They resonate, like music played in my veins.
They tell me the passions I feel are exactly what I should be feeling
Nothing wrong,
Nothing shameful.


I read a story lately
That made me write this poem.
It's still vibrating through me,
still whispering words of love.

It was magical
and dangerous.

Comments

[gweneiriol.livejournal.com]

is this your poem? because, even if it's not, it's DAMN good! Thanks for sharing!

[carose59.livejournal.com]

Thank you! Yes, it is my poem, inspired by some of the great fiction I've read in my life, but particularly spurred by a novel I read last week.

[melodyclark.livejournal.com]

As I said via email, this is a beautiful, vigorous, robust poem. Thank you so much for writing it.

[carose59.livejournal.com]

You're welcome! And thank you, for triggering it!