Ode To All The Drugs That Never Saved

By Monica Lewis

Or I’ll call you scleroses. I won’t say my brain
is melting, my brain is dissolving. The Temporarily Able
-Bodied don’t like metaphorical bodies. Only sick & not-sick.
(Thank you for inhabiting me, for making me sick.) I like to think
my fingers fill you, could burrow in. & today I can feel the inside
of one leg, the outside of the other. (I suspect if I had someone
to f*ck I would feel very little of it.) You brain holes, extra orifices,
wells to be filled. I have unloved you for five years next month.
So let’s have a party, the kind with streamers & drinking that you’ll
make me regret. I think we should take care to fall in love a little more.
I’m learning to see you as a life partner (like Taina’s therapist told her to
& she laughed). You make me hear songs differently, you make me
sing worse. But when my mouth closed, my brain opened up & that’s
okay. (They say when God closes a door, he’ll be sure to open a few
windows in your head.) & I am afraid. Because you are not a hole.
You are scar tissue, hardening into something unfillable.

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