She was Lead. Jacketed with Steel and Copernickle. She was so weighted and dragging in movement, one could not be sure she's been standing still her whole life. Waiting, as if packaged on a shelf. Her own mass betrays her, every day. Exhausted from fighting her own weight to reach very high, or step too fast.
She was as shocked as anyone, when the package was opened, and she removed.
She had as little idea as anyone, what would occur when he, like a practiced marksman, skillfully loaded her, knowing just where to aim..
and he shot her, with a bang her bullet  sped fast outwards and streaking through debree and walls and hearts and nature.
Structures big and small her bullet punctured,
it was a marvel, the bullet would not stop.
Never ricochet,
perhaps it would circle the earth.
perhaps it would break the atmosphere.
anyone who's anyone
walks with shielded head
for the answer was not clear.
Anyone who's anyone only knew,
that when her bullet was fired, her bullet, would not stop.

I washed my hands
but like waking frantic from a dream
I stopped,
and observed the knuckles.
They were so smooth.
The skin was even, white, and moisturized.
The sound of water splashing porcelain seemed so quiet,
and the soap... it was just soap.
The water did not thunder in my ears and linger hours after,
The soap did not feel like acid on my skin,
each pump no longer a breathless affliction,
and my skin was not red,
it was not violently cracked and scraped and bleeding and stinging my hands were not these raw bones that split apart with gritted teeth at my every movement.
And like falling back asleep I went into a daze,
curious how one could forget such a thing,
but on further concentration it did seem so long ago,
when the tear filled affliction plagued every moment,
my teenage life filled with
washing my hands washing my hands washing my hands
but now
I could not remember how many times I left class to clean them until I forced myself from the sink.
Perhaps my hands are clean, finally, perhaps they are washed of what I desperately tried to purge them of.
Or perhaps I remember now, because they have once again begun to feel unclean.
so curious.
how long ago that seems,
how long ago indeed.

they're pushin plastic
tellin me it'll be fantastic
but my brain goes static
thought my soul was bombastic
but they want me elastic
I swear that it's drastic
but they keep pushin plastic
and they pull out the mastic
it's a quick fix
to nix
my organic mix
bring on the gmo tricks
I've wished and I've wailed
but the words impale
I wanted
so dearly
to be proven wrong
told to be strong
but the throng
raising their prongs
keep pushin plastic

You see, I've got, so much poetry
and flow in me
I don't demand you agree,
just concede slight reprieve
so that I may breath
deep like the sea
and just as vibrant
and endless
a world on leave
I feel
in the end
there is beauty in me,
I'll never demand you agree
only please,
concede slight reprieve

I found an old box
of disposable latex gloves
and became
  entranced
  aroused
  foolish
I pulled them on,
   becoming breathless as their fibers
   closed tightly around my fingers
shaking
I raised a hand
to my throat
and let it caress
and clamp
tightly around it
the other hand
smoothing into my stomach,
together they moved
and groped
and pulled
tracing memories
of latex gloves on my body
desecrating my temple
praising my goddess
freeing me of-
         - I ripped them off-
                                       exhausted
                                       breathless
                                       ashamed
          I wanted more
          I wanted to ask for more
          I wanted to run back and ask
          I was still his sub his slave
          I fell to my knees and worshipped
          I was ashamed I felt weak
          I didn't care
        
          I wanted more

the sinkhole
in my stomach
screams
stretches
burns
devours

it only wants
to be loved

With you,

I grow stale,

Without you,

I die.