I Was Born To A Gray World

I was born to a gray world.
Void of sunlight.
Barricaded by ice.
Hunters have come for me. I watched them
gobble up
sisters, a brother,
and the woman who birthed me.

I stayed, under rocks, under dirt,
for sixteen years. I washed myself
in sin,
couldn’t come clean.
Stained with nights that smothered me
in the devils
chest hairs.

My hair grew to the length of
a woman. Sweeping me
out from
the dirt, standing me on
one foot,
then two.

Then, my breasts grew,
not much larger,
but wiser!

For some time, I lived out
dull
nightmares.
Screaming in sleep.
Silent during the dull day.
Grinding coffee beans
with quiet grips of rage.

I sliced each strand of woman from
my head,
became a man. I cut tears out of my arms
till I forgot how to
cry,
smashed my head heavy till
I forgot
everything else…

except that the world is gray.

My hair has grown back out
to the size of a woman
and my breasts haven’t grown
anything but heavy,
in a heavy body,
in a heavy gray body.

Expose

Two twisted ropes
young
ripened
hair

jumping
twirling
giggling
squealing
lengthy brown
cuts

length covers
the truth
scented as innocence
in white cloaked
purity

misleading
boys
girls
men
women

thick strands would lay
gentle across
hairy chests

lace
bare breasts
camouflaging promiscuity
as tender
bloody
raw pieces of
a heart

one-by-one
single strands fell
attaching faithfully
to each different
fingerprint that combed
intimacy down
down
down
to the bottom of every
tiny
split
end

desertion
so subtle
so discreet

went unnoticed
but
thinned
dissipated
to
nearly stark
abolishing
fabricated scents
publishing
scandalous stories
wrapped around
fingertips
lovers
who loved
innocent hair.