ROMANCE Poem: Will you be going in and out much longer?, by Hannah Nieuwveld

No.
I hope I didn’t wake you up.
It’s three AM and I’m watching the door
the ill shade of orange on the bricks
–no, it’s brown
–why’d you say orange? you stupid–
I’m being watched from the tower
through a lens
I look at the sky every time I step outside
sun stings my eyes
three new pills
one old one, it’s natural
the door swings open, there’s sick on my fingers
days of blue light and white faces
the heat makes me remember, the treks
from my car, fighting
sweat on my hairline
I am unclean by the end of the day, every day
can’t wash off the stains
the second life haunts me in my dreams
so I don’t sleep
the night brings more questions than answers
silence is running from me
fat against my bones, it pulls
sick again
trees make a cave for me to safely be a troll
the goats on tv
where are the rest of the bars?
I dream of iron jailrooms
and there’s bourbon behind
a bottle in your bag
may I be inside? please
spirits
cardboard bags don’t fit under the lid
three days away
thirty if I run, and I would
cut my knees instead
please, the heat!
I thought I got away, I can never
get away
from the beating
from the drumming
inhale, exhale, inhale, stop
drinking
water for hunger
hands on my legs
they haven’t left for three years
my thighs grew into your palms
pulled by the roots, crawling back
the creeping child
hand after hand towards her mother
–I hate your mother
–not like I love you
my mother lives inside me
she’s the one who calls your name
the seed of a fruit reaches out from the soil
no poison, no drugs
suck the poison from my wounds
but there’s no blood
please, my throat is tired
the knife against my hip plays its role
cuts perfectly
metal swells in the heat
as I am always reminded
and the stone on my torso keeps pressing
so far I can hide it as my chest
–you have such a nice figure
–you have a woman’s body now
–please, can I–
peach pits meant to be sucked bare
–I keep thinking about this
imprisoned by gluttony, my own
hands reaching out
crashing like waves
no more seagulls anymore
because the bread is gone
I have squeezed his hand numb
because your bruises blued my fingers
my goodbyes are all monologues.
Goodnight.

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Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.

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