SIX POEMS by BEE LB
i’m beautiful again
i let my breath go.
anticipation is nipping.
get a purse dog, it says.
but what of the illnesses? the sorrow.
there’s always a body
waiting for you to enter it.
the sun fell asleep. i’m waiting
for a new day to start.
i’ve lost myself somewhere
behind the mirror. i’m beautiful again.
the moon is growing imperceptibly in the sky.
i’m awake after it all.
you’re dissolving on my tongue.
i’m stepping out
waiting for the air to hold me.
i can’t stop looking at death. i mean looking for
i wish i did. so many stars and not enough
distance to grab them.
i’ve been crying like a child again.
my emotions are sniffing.
did you hear me? i’m beautiful again.
i want to sleep around but i’m so tired.
highlight
i’m trying on a new voice, does it suit me? i’m trying on a new top, does it hold me? for all our sakes, don’t get any new ideas. stick to what you know. sob for what you aren’t. me? i’m not anything much. i’m a solid 9, worse than nothing. i want to be a starlet but i’m too bright. i want to be held but i’m too heavy. i want to take flight but i never learned how. i’m a mess but i have a certain draw. like space litter, something that shouldn’t exist but undeniably does. am i irrefusable? i don’t know how to take a no. i want to tug it into a yes. i’m window dressing. display case. dust gathering in the crevice of the band. i form from discomfort like a pearl. i clamp down on flesh like a trap. i never learn. you never listen. tell me my fortune i’ll make it better. tell me i’m failing i’ll top it. i’ll flame out spectacularly. i’ll burn out a thousand bulbs. i’ll deck myself out in metal, test the outlet for the hell of it. i forget my meds if it wasn’t obvious. i can’t ever seem to escape myself. i drape my body over me like negligee. i hide the evidence. i cave easy. i’m waiting at the last station for anyone to kiss me.
cat’s got your tongue?
trouble in paradise? who are you
paying for? what moment are we in? how could you
deny what you want? am i wrong?
what do we have
left? why would you assume that?
is this a joke? why does it hurt? what are you trying to say?
what happened to all the time i spent waiting for you?
why don’t you 3am text me anymore?
where did your daddy issues go?
are you manic?
what’s that on your face? what do you mean? what
are you looking to prove?
what is there to return to now?
how much was your last overdraft?
what did she say to you?
do these leather pants look good?
is my cum sweet? why did you stop crying?
when was your last
fix? what did you overhear?
how is the self memorialized?
does working backwards actually work?
is it enough?
does your grief have anything to say for itself?
less than nine lives
i don’t even know where to begin. i don’t
have a choice.
i’d always choose you. i understand.
i’m still living for the future. i don’t know
what to say. i’d never do that
to you. to stop the bleeding. i only loved the idea
of her, i needed an image. i grew up
waiting for you. they died
when he did. i feel highs and lows intensely.
i never hid my past from you.
you were never supposed to know the worst thing about me.
i wanted to be your prince.
i don’t look back, i just remember.
i told you about my debt
before you became a part of it.
they’re my children but they came from her.
it’s not a good look.
you know it is.
this is just my face, you’re the one who likes it.
i’m trying to leave something behind.
there’s only so much i can do
to make you happy. i’m trying to do some good
for my family. you remember too much.
it’s never enough. i wish i’d shown you everything
i wanted to be.
hangnail
can’t stop thinking of what beam would best support the weight of a body. don’t ask why. picked up my old habit of tearing at the edging on my nails until it peels a satisfying sliver of skin. broke a nail yesterday hitting a wall. by accident of course. dragged another run into my sheets. by accident. bookmarked a tweet of new sheet recommendations without clicking even though there were only two. two thumbs fit perfectly on either side of my jaw. i always ask for more pressure. i’ve seen my lips turn blue more than once. i wonder if i’m developing tinnitus or just noticing more often when my ears ring. i feel obligated to tell you there is still some small part of me that thinks it’s a message i can’t yet decode. yes, i’m delusional. and what of it? now you know more about me than my therapist. she wouldn’t believe me if i told her at this point. as i told nashira and as i’ve told anyone who will listen to me talk about therapy at length, i want to be liked more than i want to get better and i’m good at getting what i want most. except really i want most a lobotomy. i’m holding out hope. i’ve held onto my seroquel prescription for years just in case. i still have four norcos from last mother’s day because i know how to ration. my mother saw my admittedly oversized metformin bottle and said, without prompting, i keep thinking those are vicodin like woman, get ahold of yourself. so you know where i get it from. so i got my norcos from her. so i asked her two months after my brother’s surgery if she was still filling his pain meds and she said, when prompted, you know, i should’ve seen how long they’d fill them, i just let him tell them he’d stopped. we were talking about hangnails but i’m thinking about other kinds of hanging and so it makes sense i’ve been offtrack from the start. only once did i flatten a penny on the tracks, and once, i pushed it through the same twist machine you feed a quarter to spit out gum, and the penny came out flattened with ridged edges. i can’t remember what design they pressed into it anymore, only the worn-flat edge on the other side, smooth as anything. i know it wouldn’t be like that, you don’t have to tell me. only i wonder, then, if i might get the key to the ring’s message. if i pick at my hangnails until my skin comes clean.
god told me to
die like life was worth something / tongue the future like it touched my lips / god is always / absent / searching / emptied / emptying / just like me but without the face / just like anyone but without the body / god eats / anything it can get its hands on / memories / dreams / caskets / florals / god and i have an agreement that he’s mine or i’m his or belonging is a pearl on the tongue of the world / a promise is nothing more than sand / a disturbance / god works / slowly / believes in wage theft / god made me a / cunt because it knew i needed to be one / couldn’t function without one / couldn’t be anything better / god wrote the song / i’m singing / corrects my tonality / god moved through me when i / failed / fucked up / upchucked / burnt my throat on my own wet bile / got sick in my hair / on the toilet / in the shower / on the floor / i feel god in the ashes when you chainsmoke / god has removed my fear of / being / found / i mean it found me / it didn’t save me / god has given me strength to cry / and wonder / and weep / and cry some more / then shut it all off and keep on living / like i’m meant to / like it wasn’t / a mistake / god is a bitch / a failure / a fountain / a hole / the worst / last / best / he could imagine
BEE LB (they/them) is the facsimile of a living poet; a porcelain pierrot with a painted face. they collect champagne bottles, portraits of strange women, and diagnoses. they've been published in G*Mob, MOODY, Landfill, and The Racket, among others. they can be found online though not currently on social media, their portfolio can be found at twinbrights.carrd.co.