I feed this world my soul like a corpse buried in a garden,
Roots latching on and draining,
draining.
A combination between being eaten alive and decomposing.
I am the quiet one
Because tubers are in my mouth
And I couldn’t bear to disappoint the worms.
I am my own surgeon, you see.
Every morning I scalpel my face into
Something resembling health.
One.
You sunk in
Beneath me, into deepest
Recesses of my internal organs.
You crept in
Like noxious gas
My lungs burst with words unsung
You accumulated in my blood
Until I bled metal.
I could not move, I could not see
Through the darkness you shrouded me in.
Two.
When I dream, I dream of dying.
I dream of the sea at the bottom of the porcelain bowl
Swallowing me
Whole.
I went to the ocean
And looked out at the sharpened rocks.
They reminded me of your fingers
In my hair.
I can no longer bleed it out, you see.
They found you in my marrow.
My mother named me island
Because she saw that one day
I would be alone,
Waves beating my shores
And I, ever yielding.
Three.
The doctors said my blood smelled of almonds
And burned in the light.
They crafted wheel chairs from my bone marrow,
Hard as steel and twice as cold.
They harvested me like HeLa cells
And put my corpse on display.
I am the elephant girl,
Perhaps someday, someone will purchase my bones
As a conversation piece.
Remember me as a summer bird,
I sang once,
Then winter came.
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-Kelsey Jay
I wore sick like a badge of honour
I don’t heal,
I just scab over.
My soul is a mess of congealing blood
Dripping dripping.
I feel you in here like a parasite
And still I feed you.
This is true sickness.
I fear you will burst out of me
Instead of passing with the waste,
Coating everything in sight
With yesterday’s feelings.
Nothing Gold Poetry. 