thank you for gifting me something I won't make art with
if anything, I was a puzzle board of a flower / missing its stomata / in human form, with only a brain for a heartbeat / I can spell each / gap between my words / like a missing tooth / I haven’t stomached any other form of creativity / but I can taste its vacant space / with the decaying thread from the time there was / a loose tooth / I requested for a scissor to stick into my mouth / and cut it off / instead you passed me a box / so bending, I peered in / chest collapsing inward / no; I didn’t hold my stature / frail bones and sagged spine / when the lid snapped shut. / now I’m trapped with curiosity / and darkness. / but oh! / this gift feels like a lung, two lungs / feels like mockery / it’s my stomata / the missing piece / the placeholder of the vacancy above my ribs but
I can’t swallow / it’s too different from tasting / and this, too small / inexact as felt by my remaining teeth / my bones have expanded / to fill in every hollow room / all the pieces cling together and hold each other’s hand / I, growing & growing / thank you for gifting me a mismatched piece / misfitting lungs / this prank taught me lessons of a lifetime that one / art is made from nothing / and two / this tightly shut box instructs me / to keep breathing / nevertheless.
I can’t swallow / it’s too different from tasting / and this, too small / inexact as felt by my remaining teeth / my bones have expanded / to fill in every hollow room / all the pieces cling together and hold each other’s hand / I, growing & growing / thank you for gifting me a mismatched piece / misfitting lungs / this prank taught me lessons of a lifetime that one / art is made from nothing / and two / this tightly shut box instructs me / to keep breathing / nevertheless.
an ode to staying inside
what nobody talks about / breaking away from your shell / are the insides. / the insides are home / the roof leaks and my tongue / licks the sky’s spits of rain / the familiar taste of unpurified water. / the maintenance inflation rate skyrockets / every five days / but in none of them do my showers have hot water.
every day I scrub my skin on ice, praying / that it melts and the red scratch marks it leaves can bury itself / burrow from the cold./ hibernate and never be a result of hardened icicles / from shower heads again. / my legs jitter but my teeth never chatter. / my neck stays bent and dry. / I haven’t washed my hair in months / I don’t keep any left. / I don’t know what type of water / is ricocheting inside my stomach / but it’s hard to thirst for more / when I’m being poured down with something / to drink.
every night I lay on the floor / and think of the surfaces / I haven’t scratched. / I’ve grown so used to being paralyzed / it hurts to move. / it’s not difficult to break / into this shell / but a thief’s burden is always / coming out. / I don’t know what my head will look like. I don’t know what I will be / without this dirty scalp / wasting away.
every day I scrub my skin on ice, praying / that it melts and the red scratch marks it leaves can bury itself / burrow from the cold./ hibernate and never be a result of hardened icicles / from shower heads again. / my legs jitter but my teeth never chatter. / my neck stays bent and dry. / I haven’t washed my hair in months / I don’t keep any left. / I don’t know what type of water / is ricocheting inside my stomach / but it’s hard to thirst for more / when I’m being poured down with something / to drink.
every night I lay on the floor / and think of the surfaces / I haven’t scratched. / I’ve grown so used to being paralyzed / it hurts to move. / it’s not difficult to break / into this shell / but a thief’s burden is always / coming out. / I don’t know what my head will look like. I don’t know what I will be / without this dirty scalp / wasting away.
About the Author
Cailey Tin (she/her) is a southeast Asian-based staff writer and podcast co-host at The Incandescent Review, columnist at Paper Crane Journal, and Incognito Press. Her work has been published in Fairfield Scribes, Alien Magazine, Cathartic Lit, and more. When not writing, she can be found reading about the global economy or shamelessly watching cartoons on Netflix. Visit her Instagram @itscaileynotkylie.