Silent Night

If there is a silent night now
I will not be its victim
pent up
prowling
pacing from house to house
always seeking freedom someplace else
trapped by contraband I smuggle
in my chest cavity
No, if there is silence
I will be its owner
I will buy it with my own hard-earned cash
I will buy myself dinner at the bar
the girl from Ipanema herself eating juicy
dripping red meat
drinking winter citrus gimlets
Yes,

I will treat myself as if
as if
as if I deserved
as if I deserved to be nourished and fed
satisfied and pleasured as if
I have done nothing wrong including
all of the mistakes

If there are silent nights they will be lit
by the distant fire of stars long past
exploding
There will be darkness and a changing moon and I
will stand beneath that sky not
too much
or too little
not too anything wrong or sorry
martyr monster
but so fucking human the blood gushes
from my open wounds and
my own saliva heals those wounds as I lick myself
clean
And I drip the wetness
of a thousand silent winters thawing in the cold night
a kind of miracle
and scream as if in labor birthing
a woman so severe raw alive raging
tender
so exposed
that every snowflake clings to my bare skin
and every portion cracks and bleeds
glows and heals

and I will kneel and rise up survive until daybreak
when the birds themselves
always the smallest ones
come to break the silence
for good.

Posted in: Uncategorized

2 thoughts on “Silent Night

  1. skippyjonjones says:

    Such bold truths here, dear one.

    Much power in your words.

    Wishing you deep nourishment, rich pleasure, and great satisfaction.

    Like

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