outerskin is scrubbed with soap, nails bleeding dripping
tie a bow around my waist, strip with scissors, curl
the knot now is around my lungs
breathing staggered pins of air rip the flesh the heads jammed maintain conscious
dizzying heights, light headed
i trip and fall, tumble, plummet, dive.
Crash landing into headlights
Pierce of white- mark my view.
"I'm sorry, i just can't afford it"
I wrote this in class after our discussions of working class poetry/poetics. Not sure how i feel about it, and i don't know why piercing skin is such a theme in my poems, it's very odd. Another guy in my class wrote this wonderful piece, very playful, i liked his better. But that just means i need to work on it. Also, because my heart wasn't really in this. Though it is true i often can't buy things because i can't afford it, and it's nice to have this veneer of being able to. Yet, i don't know, i don't feel personally limited by class. At least not now, not at uni...