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HAYWIRE Issue <strong>11</strong> <strong>Spring</strong> <strong>2018</strong><br />
What I’m Trying To Say<br />
What I’m trying to say is<br />
My infatuation cannot be subsided<br />
Constantly on my mind<br />
Because the little red arrows pierce<br />
The rough patches of my skin<br />
And despite my attempts with<br />
Cream and bandages they continue<br />
To bleed.<br />
The boat sailing off<br />
Encounters the strong winds of<br />
The harsh winter<br />
The wind thrashing is back and forth<br />
A whip that breaks the mast<br />
And pulls the boat down to Earth<br />
What I’m trying to say is<br />
When you tap wet paint with your<br />
Fingers and are left with little kisses<br />
And when your hands retreat from<br />
The wind biting like wolves and<br />
Submerge them in water burning so<br />
Hot it’s cold.<br />
You know your hands are burning<br />
The boils already forming and you<br />
Accept your fate of<br />
Grandmother hands just so you enjoy<br />
The moment a second longer<br />
What I’m trying to say is<br />
When I pinch my skin with hair clips I<br />
Hear static<br />
I always wander around my room<br />
Never moving anywhere,<br />
Clawing at the source.<br />
When I look under desks and dressers my<br />
Hands emerge in dust<br />
And I can’t help feel disgusted<br />
For emitting it<br />
by Zoe Schneidereit, 12d<br />
Crunching on bones<br />
Gnawing on veins and arteries?<br />
Do I dare eat a peach?<br />
How long will it take for me to start<br />
Sinking ships in my mind?<br />
Do I dare eat a peach?<br />
Eat a pear?<br />
Eat memories that I love<br />
For what difference does it make in<br />
My stomach than in my brain<br />
What I’m trying to say is<br />
My back will one day break.<br />
My child is going to step on<br />
The growing cracks in the hot<br />
Summer cement<br />
With its roots spreading out as<br />
Happy as a clam with its<br />
Baby pink pearl<br />
A little shoe will stomp<br />
And I will hear the twig snapping and<br />
Then rejoice and collapse to the floor<br />
What I’m trying to say is<br />
When I die I want to be buried the<br />
Way I came<br />
Into the ground<br />
And have a magnolia tree planted within my womb<br />
Whoever comes too close will be<br />
Rewarded with sticky blossoms<br />
On bare feet<br />
What I’m trying to say is<br />
Do I dare sink teeth in peaches<br />
Like sinking ships?<br />
When I bite my tongue grazes at the<br />
Skin and I shudder<br />
For what if my mind one day malfunctions<br />
And I bite down on my own skin<br />
10
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