A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.
Inedible
Sera
I wish I could cover
my body in spikes,
become unappetizing,
indigestible.
I poke holes into my image,
pour lighter fluid over it,
flicking the flame on
and burning away
the outline you memorized,
char the version of me
you still think of.
I wish I could transform,
shapeshift
into something you hate.
I chop my hair in
uneven sections,
cut lattice into my face,
unravel the centre of myself.
I bite my fingers raw,
throw my body against concrete
until it's beaten bloody.
carve my tongue
from my throat
so I can't comply.
stab forks into my sight;
force myself back
in control.
I wish I could break
every single one of my bones
so I can slip from these cuffs,
this cage,
contort myself to fit
between the bars.
I know I have the key
but I can't find the lock-
I'm blind.
I need to break myself
out of here.
time is flying
but my wings are broken.
I take a bat to my back,
pepper spray my face,
swallow a grenade
and drink acid.
I wish I could mould myself
into a mushy mess,
become nauseating,
off putting,
tasteless.
I run into traffic,
tangle myself in the tires,
chugging gasoline.
I jump into a pit of spiders,
cover myself in bites and stings,
eat handfuls of bees
until my cheeks swell.
I'll dip myself into a
lake of boiling water,
seeping deep as my
skin bubbles up.
I'll roll in what repels you,
leave with a matching stench,
use jagged stones
to scratch up any
blank space remaining.
I wish I could melt down
into the cracks in the earth,
hide in the soil
from the eyes in the sky.
drag wood against
my arms and legs,
hair turning to splinters.
I shave my eyebrows off
and pick at my lips.
I'll tie my teeth to string,
slam the door,
take pieces of glass
and stick them into my body,
standing with the cactus.
cut out all the cartilage
and tie together my tendons,
spread my blood on bread
and eat that instead.
jump head first
into a volcano,
exfoliate my skin with the heat.
make myself a target-
fire arrow after arrow,
pinning myself down.
take an axe to my toes,
a mace to the chest,
a knife to the back.
I wish I could become
inedible,
insipid,
abhorrent.
I'd do anything
to make you
projectile vomit
at the thought of me.
More from Sera ↓
- @serawrites03 on Instagram
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Mentioned in this episode:
Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem Only
Write After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice.
We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.
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