Poem: moods

[ysobel]

Content warning for self-harm and images of injury

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I am in one of those moods
where I want to
punch maim scratch
harm
kill

there is no reason for it
--except perhaps
that the blood of my womb
calls for blood under my teeth?--
but I am quick to anger at people for
stupidities or carelessness or being human or
just
existing

anger wells up:

at my aide who, being late, still saunters and dallies and acts unconcerned

at the person who parked where I usually get let off

at the idiot on a skateboard who runs a red light and speeds in front of my face as I move off the curb

at the smoker who stands on the sidewalk breathing poison

at the choir members who do not come in when they should

at everyone

-- I want the world to burn

but violence is not becoming
not an appropriate reaction.

So I turn inward, nails on
palms and teeth on lip and if I could
I would be tugging hair, biting flesh, scraping lines and
watching white flush to red as
blood pools underneath

And deeper, peeling
my face away from bone and muscle
freeing the smile that I do not feel

sliding the sharpness of a blade
so that skin and fat part in layers
and blood wells up into thirsty air
spilling warm and sticky in fractal patterns

and all the while the pain
cleansing and purifying like fire
burning impurities and all that is
wrong with me
focusing my mind and channeling
rage

but that is not
acceptable
either

so: turn inward, turn deeper
mental hand wielding a scalpel
made of thoughts and emotions
that cuts into my self-ness
no blood, no visible trace
just pain and a self that grows
smaller year by year, day by day,
carved from what was once whole
as small curled shavings fall into the abyss forgotten

sometimes I think
that I do to myself in my mind
--whether imagined harms or very real words or emotions--
would from another person be abuse
but because it is inside me it is
(accepted?)
invisible
unfightable
unwinnable

I am in one of those moods
today
but also
this year
and maybe even for the rest of my
life