The Body Keeps the Poem
Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.
I'm going to say what I mean.
No metaphors. No curtains.
No beautiful language
wrapped around the ugly thing
to make it easier
to put on a shelf.
I am angry.
Not the kind of angry
that looks good on stage
with a microphone
and a spotlight.
The kind of angry
that sits in the body
for years
and turns into
back pain.
I am angry
because they told me
to be grateful
for things
that should have been
basic.
I am angry
because I was taught
to say thank you
when I should have been taught
to say no.
I am angry
because the system
that was supposed to hold me
had holes
and I fell through
and someone said:
you should have held on tighter.
This is not a performance.
This is a Tuesday.
This is what it sounds like
when a person
stops translating
their pain
into something
more palatable
for the room.
I don't want your pity.
I don't want your solution.
I want you to sit here
and let this
be uncomfortable
for exactly as long
as it's been uncomfortable
for me.
That's all poetry is, really.
Not beauty.
Not rhyme.
Not the careful arrangement
of words
into something
that makes you feel
good.
Poetry is the refusal
to be quiet
about the thing
that everyone agreed
to be quiet about.
And this
is my refusal.
231 words · 66 lines · Free Verse