Issue
#7 

January
2010


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a poem by xTx (1 of 2)

What Happens

my hands are like sandpaper
or those grasses that cut you like
sharp paper

should you stroke them in one,
very wrong,
direction.

i have heinous bruises on the insides
of my knees
like i was riding a mechanical bull,
hands free

drunk off three dirties, 2 liquid cocaines and
a sip of a beer from a guy who looked like
the Dread Pirate Roberts.

i have sore spots on my fingers from splinters
and torn cuticles
and ripped fingernails

down

to

the

quick

because obviously
i was moving furniture this weekend
or
getting hate fucked
and that's just what happens as a result

of one,
both,
or the other.

© by xTx
 
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #7 ~ January 2010    next poem