THREE POEMS by KRISTIE SHOEMAKER
feral
i am dismantling a song above my body
outside of my body
inside of my head
so that every sense in every sense of the word rips it apart
delicately
so that i can finally understand
why and
how i feel this way about you
movement slows down
the words get stuck in my throat
like a pill i desperately want to swallow even though my mouth is a barren desert
exhale/inhale
the only life for miles are the sandstorms kicked up by my panting breath
my tongue spits acidic love that burns holes in the carpet begging for attention
more, always more
never enough
your tongue is miles away now
my mouth is a small cave
filled with bats and saliva
but they are safe in here
eventually the bats tire from flapping against teeth and gum
they are drunk from lingering alcohol fumes
why and
how are others asleep when there is so much happening right in this moment
i find a glow stick underneath my couch and i bite it open
i let the liquid pour all over me
it pools in my mouth
the bats wake up with new life and go crazy
collectively losing their minds
the glowing liquid drips down my chin
and down my body
i am a feral neon home
to everything and anything that will trust me
female monuments
bursting through varying shades of blue
birthed from the sea
defying their mother
quiet and strong
rising with each pull of the moon
their purpose is to be seen
temptation with a sense of pure tenderness
soft misleading light
beconing any poor soul to self sacrifice
the dark water swallows and forgets
the lore is too strong
if they only knew the one thing missing was a chance
a fair fight
all disappearing while desperately grasping for beauty
large exposed torsos grant waves to crash and break
but still they stand
unmoved and self aware
only modest under the gaze of the night sky
an invasion of stone cold women
sculpted from the riptides and depths unknown
all for a gentle destruction
on those who take them for granted
words strung together always make a poem
a mermaid
half sea creature, half depressed person
with glitter hair
made the sea a snow globe
half off at the gift shop on the beach
that has been closed for thirty years
because the rent was too high
to contain such a large novelty item
kristie shoemaker is a twenty-six year old scorpio who thinks plants are cool. she just released her first poetry pamphlet plants will make her dance (varsity goth press, 2017) and has been published in various lit mags including voicemail poems, weu wei fashion mag, fruita pulp, be about it and more. her first full length collection do graves get wifi was released halloween (ghost city press, 2017) and you can read her ongoing breakdown @1ittlepeach
