my kaleidoscopic silhouette
infinitely fades and replicates.
every summer has been spoiled
by excessive fire
and my face is swollen
from all the dying stars i slid
underneath my skin.
i break open my own heart
and stuff it with
glue, glitter, and gunpowder.
now i feel like a purring engine
or a cold robot;
if you look closely, my sweat
is made of little silver bolts.
i am purifying my bones,
electrifying my tongue.
i want to talk like a radio--
full of static and interest.
infinitely fades and replicates.
every summer has been spoiled
by excessive fire
and my face is swollen
from all the dying stars i slid
underneath my skin.
i break open my own heart
and stuff it with
glue, glitter, and gunpowder.
now i feel like a purring engine
or a cold robot;
if you look closely, my sweat
is made of little silver bolts.
i am purifying my bones,
electrifying my tongue.
i want to talk like a radio--
full of static and interest.
✱✱✱
| Monica Beaujon is an undergraduate student, majoring in English at the University of Wisconsin. Her poetry has most recently been published in Germ, Five 2 One, and Maudlin House. Other writing of hers has appeared in Thought Catalog. |
