11
Excavatem
Maybe one day I'll get shitfaced -
stoned;
and cut
a four-inch slit
to peel back;
so you can see my ribs.
You could dab away the red,
the livid, living layers,
you'd see - ribs are
whiter than my teeth,
and stronger than my will.
(The strength of marrow outstrips
even faith
and confidence).
You've seen the hole
where the breastplate of my armor
should sit,
rigid and proud - secure.
There's a cavern on the outside
with a marble floor...
Limestone lungs underneath.
I'm terrified
to be called deformed.
And you'll be terrified too.
You'll race me to the hospital,
calling me crazy under your breath,
run ragged with raw nerves;
you'll stare down
any nurse or intern
who doesn't buy the lie
you concoct
to protect me
from the staff lounge snipers,
sacrificing yourself.
And I love you for that.
Abigail Beaudelle, 17, is the editor and publisher for The Poetry Warrior ezine (www.thepoetrywarrior.com). Her work has appeared (or is due for publication) in Heroin Love Songs Journal, Off Beat Pulp, Neon Beam, Eviscerator Heaven, Clockwise Cat, and Counterexample Poetics. She hopes to have her first chapbook, Knuckles, Ribs, Phalanges out by summer 2009. You can contact her via email at abigail@thepoetrywarrior.com
