 I got this glasshouse of a heart that I put into poems and photographs.
Strangers have watched me break and gather myself with a mirror glued between my fingers no matter how grotesque and brutal the reflection. My heart is Frankenstein's monster. Most days, I'm not sure if I'm Victor or victim. Most nights, I'm animated by some unknown spark that projects this fire, confined like unborn, in my belly. I give things openly that people never asked for, but I don't need their permission to exist. I never said they ʜᴀᴅ to watch. But most people can't walk by a glasshouse without looking in. Even if it's merely to criticize it for being glass in the first place. Anything transparent, broken and beautiful makes them uncomfortable. --Melanie YeYo Carter
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 Full room and I was movin’ through the crowd with
I ate twice before I came energy I left the worries outside next to old insecurities smokin a blunt so they could get their shit together I was spilling black woman all ova everybody’s space The gutta-walk was sickening Sex appeal and wet on 10 with no outlet worthy enough to get this wet wet this Soul Snatcha this baby-nectar-voodoo shit Until it found safe ghosting on an old lover’s lips Occasionally, full circle occurs unexpectedly And it ain’t always pretty or docile It can brew like quiet before storm in a catacomb of emotion or in a backseat brimming with exposed bodies full of everything except expectations Air full of blood words and torture tactics that sound like “pull my hair and slap my ass… again… again” There are no lies, just skin No “I love yous” because it didn’t work the first time, and, at this point, songs are the only thing in this life worth the repeat And it ain’t that I don’t feel the love anymore- I just know it’s not enough I just know it doesn’t taste the same But, my God, how we can still find each other’s spots in the dark make beautiful orgasms of an unexplained connection I still think our children would have been southern classics with machetes for mouths and sky skin of unmuted melodies addicted to feeling addicted to people and overly passionate about shit like lines and lyrics and love stories that don’t resemble war But, those are just thoughts with no what ifs attached Our possibilities were gutted and eulogized somewhere between the second and third girlfriend you chose that wasn’t me Somewhere in the miscommunication where I was hurt and you were angry and we were both some stubborn ass glassblowers who forgot our Eden and our apple But, we can still taste it Still feel it between our teeth like gravity Reminding us that we messed up the love but we’ve always known how to f’k each other like porn stars Like joy growing through bloody concrete So, we split each other open And I walked away spilling black woman all ova yo shit My gutta-walk was sickening And I held no regrets-- Melanie YeYo Carter |
Author"I was blessed with the ability to make ugly look pretty. This is my superpower." Archives
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