they were one, my hands and the rot - by Cassie Frisbie

This pain I can't run from.

I can't work it away.

My torturer from within:

Lover, God, Sole Comfort -

I give it many names.

The internet calls it by a

Simpler phrase.

I reach for darkness when

The sunbeams are etched

Directly into my skin,

Maybe this is what it is.

Sipping on vanilla coke

Like it's all Eve ever craved.

I knock on garden gates.

People think it's because

The fruit still hangs

To its knotted old tree,

But I know it lies

Bitten and rotting,

Spreading its seed.

I only want to tempt the

Cunning serpent to bite me

Nip at my heels, whispering

Maybe he can fix me,

Make me more human.

Maybe if I can learn

To hold his twisting body

In my trembling hands

I can undo just one curse

Of a loving God and Father

Some secret knowledge

The sigil that can reverse

An allegory of premature rot.

I know full well that you can

Destroy a ruin - but it's a

Procedure I must undergo.

About the author:

Cassie (they/she) is a 22 year old poet, aesthete, artist, and plant mom based in Springfield, Missouri. Inspired by both classic Romantic and midcentury Confessional poetry, she seeks to blend these styles into something deeply personal, that puts words to their utmost test, touches the hearts of readers through imagery they can relate to, and honor through artistry the most basic point of language: to make one understand. Cassie lives - of course - in Springfield, with her husband Michael, their tuxedo kitten Colette, and her myriad plant children. Instagram: @cassie.frisbie_poetry