{"sf1_id":2035196,"sf2_id":"dmBMG2e6","title":"THE BODY AS ITS OWN HOSTAGE","author":"wrenquire","words":211,"posted_at":"2023-08-08T19:46:00.000Z","tags":["Poetry"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/2035196-the-body-as-its-own-hostage","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/dmBMG2e6","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/5f/a4/5fa4c681-2ee6-4082-b11d-3a1bb5165408","description":"#2 of Poetry\n\nSome biographical free verse","content":"My nerves the orchestra none hear.\n\nFreeways of fire make me try to gnaw\n\nhands to paste. The kitchen burn that melts\n\nand cooks my skin till juice beads\n\nalong my arm is nothing. Skin sizzles,\n\nI don't feel it. I feel only talons\n\nthat rake my ribs, the butterflies\n\nbeating between my shoulder blades,\n\nthe bouquet of teeth blossoming\n\nbeneath my hips. My body its killer\n\nand hostage, but the doctor asks:\n\n\"Are you sure it's not stress? Have\n\nyou tried meditation?\" Have you tried\n\ntugging on your brainstem like a weed?\n\nYou must grab it at the base, to ensure\n\nthe roots come with. I long to rip free\n\nwhat slithers through the earth of my body.\n\n  \n\nWhen young, I dreamed of plants\n\nthat grow inside your skin. They'd sprout\n\nshining lye hairs on my arms,\n\nand I'd pick and pull it up, out and out,\n\nuntil wet, bloody fibers of porcelain\n\nwere wrapped in my hand, tugging\n\non a snagged knot. Ripping it free\n\nlike a barbed arrow, one bloody bulbous root\n\nleaving weeping red craters across me,\n\nuntil I simply submitted to carrying\n\nthese growths. Now I wonder\n\nif my body whispered warnings\n\nof what grew till hatching. Now hatching\n\nlike botflies that chew constellations in me.\n\n  \n\n  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Poetry","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1973554-in-the-city-where-they-paved-the-roads-with-our-tongues-and-teeth.json"}}