I AM A MENACE AND ALSO A BIT SAD

because I think my boobs 
are beginning to sag
and I just 
want to be clear 
about expectations
all the new poets 
monopolizing sex 
and ketamine
I never had any 
just a throbbing 
for weekends
I sleep in 
their color
isn’t it 
so 
romantic
my dependency 
on old fur 
valium 
grand notions 
of starting over
this is business
being beautiful 
and fun 
one day I’ll own 
all the lemons
for now 
sit at home
in our 
tiny apartment
feeling ashamed 
it’s a pity 
when I open up 
a photo
to be sentimental
with deja vu 
and desert flowers
in my mouth 
I can’t seem talk 
pretend I am 
on vacation 
knee-deep in weeds
they are so 
spot on 
in Massachusetts 
when did I get 
in my head 
to come here 
I could have 
been anywhere
vanquishing
my soul
with glycolic acid
or breaking out 
fun drink ware 
I guess I blame 
the internet
surfacing likelihoods 
for newer
miseries
it takes some
technique
to click
View All
and see 
the world
others with real money 
get to live in
and I am
at my most ridiculous
dunking owls 
in clawfoot tubs
and wearing lace 
like I mean it
some would think 
I am writing 
the ocean
drooling 
all this blue
I believe 
in its
engorging beauty 
the sanctity 
of weakness 
lie flat 
in standing water
like raw 
on the burn
I love being so 
cinematic  
walking in front
of full-length mirrors
or unspooling the wings
of a deadhead 
angel
I eat nectarines
straight out of 
your palm
where I see it 
all happen
that you have been 
poor to me
hate being 
this gullible 
strategizing 
newer content
for a living 
brands profit
off my decadence
it seems
I am a byproduct 
of heaven 
my sweetness  
forty yards 
of shiny
I think I am pure 
amber
at my center
am always sad
wanting to 
disappear into 
the weather
and catch beetles 
in my tea
I like to watch them 
drown slowly 
like all the young 
American girls
it can be a party 
being 
a sort of woman
straw bags and  
throwaway sandals
I want to dance in 
camp everything
the bar menu reading 
vodka 
lemon
and sparkles
as though glitter 
could make 
me hungry
I just want fire and
my afterbirth
hug my spirit
in at my knees
it’s uncomfortable
getting lost 
with no real purpose 
and having 
an algorithm 
to sort out 
everything 
certain thoughts
retreating into 
my email 
and holes
when you call me
my fingers suckle
the sunset
and lilacs wilt
at my feet
they seem to trail 
my failure 
600 eyes 
on my back  
it is all very 
dislocated
when I get lonely
I have some
sort 
of resolve 
with a razor 
and a wing
am nothing 
but memorable
a new era 
of luxury
stringing 
birds’ feathers 
over my chest
and tattooing my
wrists
I can’t seem to stop
scattering
junk metal
and stuffing 
bad poetry 
into my mouth
it’s the source 
of all my sorrow
writers pulling
two continents 
together
to make a light 
explosion
it makes me 
collapse
on my body
grow out another
vintage dress 
that my chest can
really swim in 
I am always this
exceptionally 
dressed
with five gallons of
foxglove
almond shells
and pollination
sprouting a 
pretend baby
in my womb 
like she said we can 
bloom out 
one side
I think that 
it’s enchanted
my love for roots 
and barbiturates
rain 
down in the valley
matter being
conceptual
a wonderland 
I halve with a dagger
think time 
should be tenseless 
threading green summers
and young boys
straight through 
my opening 
I’m blunted 
at the top
by a choker 
the 90s resurrecting
in my shoes 
CDs 
and
lawn chairs
you tell me to unpack 
all the flannel
to feel
something 
like fertility
my narrow hips
milking the land
in broad 
daylight
I get so full
of stimulants 
and ends
sometimes
have a 
big mood
on Tuesdays 
knowing everything 
that stems 
wet  
from my shirt
can be the result of 
a torn nipple
like half of me
left open 
in the 
outdoors
I feel all
hormonal 
and wrong
my arms
perfumed 
with lavender 
creams
the light of 
a home
computer 
I air 
my happiness
with store-bought
diffusers
smelling of
eucalyptus 
and my platinum 
blonde hair
I think this 
makes me
saintly 
and magnificent
my feathers hurting
under the moon
I play a harp
trying to live
forever 
in a windfall 
of your
sheen
and glyphs
scenes sputtering
across a good 
piece of pottery
I plant
all my tablets
and Ikea furniture
under the thick sky
like lone flags
in a crater
tell you 
they can give me 
everything
old friends 
and happiness
tanning beds
to work over
my greatness
it’s total mayhem
that I
have been left 
creating
the most lush 
outdoor expanses
the many doors 
of a city
I am so tired 
of eating up 
cerulean and 
motels
the possibility 
of another 
surgery
paint my lips
hot cherry
for speculums
and doctors
the way they reflect
a fist 
like a dagger
I want to don 
a mumu
across the bell
of my body
wash my hair out of
yesterday
it is like 
the ruin of hell 
throwing up 
warm clay
and 
ugly pots 
of tulips
my sternum 
always draped 
across our 
terra cotta
I thank god 
each person
I love
is equally drunk 
on their own
self 
assurance
running down
the side
of a mountain
I’m jealous of their
uncaring
when I am here
dying
my whole life spent
warding off evil 
I wear  
a piece of jade 
between my breasts
like two 
separate snakes
a double-headed 
ouroboros
it’s exciting how  
I eat my own tail 
to feel sultry
perfection in the
place of 
my sadness
I guess it 
can be nice
flaring from orifices 
and inseparable
from all the blue 
I am just
handfuls of pine 
drying in the sun 
I make curves 
of inroads
and thin
penciled eyebrows
my tongue against a 
sour candy
I like the feeling of it 
unsettling 
like some kind 
of stone
all soft bait
and gesture
where I begin 
to bleed
it’s a wellspring
being an
overgrown woman 
stylized 
and funereal 
in my very
small room 
I forage trash
from an ice bath
it’s a vibe
finding and sharing
less than
perfect poems 
or entering
the golden cage
with a golden 
carrot
there are 
so many
more tents
in my city 
it’s like
a bird’s eye 
view
of disease
in our yard
a triangle
where one point 
meets a 
cellophane wrapper
turning in the sun
at the 
right angle
I choke down any
hope 
of recovery 
feel rather
antiquated
my mouth flowing 
with vines 
ceiling fans
all the days 
I couldn’t eat
real food
it takes a lot
to be this 
transparent  
the city righting
itself
around me 
and fences
edging out 
greater
beauties
I sit beside them
scrolling through 
others’ happiness
infants with 
thick hair
and honeysuckle
it’s brilliant
being on an app
and touching myself 
to dirt 
cheap 
lollipops
in another love seat
I feel 
my legs
my electrons
grow
softer for it 

Stevie Belchak is a writer and namer living in downtown Oakland. A graduate of UMass Amherst's MFA for Poets & Writers, her poetry and non-fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Dream Pop Press, JetFuel Review, and Third Coast.