// cringe and cages //

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All they ever thought I wanted was to be myself but I’m only myself so often. The selves, I sort through them with expectant, humble, delicate hands and wonder: which face is it you wish me to pull out and put on for you?

In the place where we came from, out of the resurrection of a thousand suns, I can slip inside your movements before you make them, as you thread your fingers through my plush and thickening mouth, one by clever deliberate one. Another of the selves kept quiet: I stand off in the fog of the distance timing my heartbeat to your hesitant receding; this is how they taught us to be available and remain untouched.

The voices of those who want in will not leave, they reverberate inside of me, they are clamor, I am a skeleton of distraction unto myself, a splitting of the mind of my infinite selves. I search the expansive black for an entrance, an exit, a hallway into freedom from these exhausting dreams.

My own heaviness wears thin within the marrow of the bones, the crushing suffocation of my own voice.

And it is my voice I need to return to somehow.

The only solace is lush and secret solitude. Letting go gradually, gradually, all this light is chaos, all this sound is the nectar of a synthetic womb, all these hungry gaping mouths are a world gnashing in constant against a reluctant house of drawn windows, this hurts me, too. It makes me into someone who needs the need and this is the fevered spiral death of all creative things: obsession.

The animal in me is headlights flashing across endless muddy fields, I crave the energy of the smooth spinning earth, to bury my tremors in the sweet cool of dark forests and replenish my veins. The flow of all creation is to pour forth from an abundance, a ripeness, an overflow, to be bitten, sucked, devoured by the material design of the fabric of the cells I carry, the stimulating vibrations of the seeker; the tear-laced dressings of melancholy desire.

I am at odds with the corruption they bottle and rupture me with, this skin, this skin, they have imprisoned me in, I have given it everything.

And a voluptuous song continues its turning on the tip of my soft tongue.

And these many, many souls and I, wander alone with the rest of me.

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11 thoughts on “// cringe and cages //

  1. Jade M. Wong

    Thank you for visiting my blog. Congratulations on the poetry book! It’s a stunning cover and I absolutely love how it looks. I’ll be exploring your blog a little bit 😉

    As for this post, your words create such vivid imagery, it’s quite beautiful.

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    Reply
    1. Allison Marie Post author

      Tastey – that is the perfect response, thank you deep. I dig so very much! 😉 So truly happy we’ve connected. “Well met.” Well said, my friend. I hope your day is magic and inspired. I thank you again so much.

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply
      1. Transdimensional Poet

        You are most welcome. I’d tip my hat here, were i wearing one. I find prose difficult to write; tend to feel like I’m rambling instead of presenting a stream of examined thought. Your prose comes off so considered and natural. Tell me, do you find yourself making several rewrites or does it just rush out of you the way the finished product reads?

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      2. Allison Marie Post author

        How lovely, a tip of the proverbial hat! Thank you so, sir. 🙂 And thank you for your thoughtful question, it gave me pause to think about my process, which is sometimes elusive. I guess it’s really a rush of things (visions, images, emotions, experiences) that have been building within me over the course of however long, and in one write I get most of it down, trying to collect and deliver the moment. Then I let it sit for a day and come back to it, add, tweak, trim here and there to make sure reading through it is smooth and clutching as well. I want it to feel more than read – if that makes sense? I feel it out to make sure the texture is satisfying. I’m rambling, forgive me.
        Would love to hear about your process as well, I adore your poetry for its impeccable words placed as they are – you have a brilliant way of touching the reader as much by what you put in as what you leave out. You establish a sort of invisible trust right away, a command of the moment.

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Transdimensional Poet

        Yeah, I can dig that; makes perfect sense. I suppose one must simply have just the right disposition and skill for well constructed, engaging prose. Thanks for letting me in on your process. I guess mine isn’t all that different. Half of the time, I belt it out at once, like my pen is possessed. The other half of the time I rework and rework until i feel like I’ve boiled the piece down to it’s barest essentials. Thank you sincerely for the kind and considered words. You nailed exactly what I try to do with most of my works. I find that even in poetry, empty space can be as potent as it is in the more visual arts.

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      4. Allison Marie Post author

        I so agree – the “white space” in writing of any kind can add so much beauty and depth. I guess that was why I mentioned trust, I think maybe we fall in love with a piece of writing when we feel the author knows what he or she is doing in a sense, that we are “in good hands” and can let the piece affect us as it is meant to do. Wielding that is a skill in itself. And you have it in spades, my friend. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

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