I have heard we are like onions,
the layers
not the smell or taste
but I say often all three,
we are stripping away translucence
in order to be more real
and more small
one membrane at a time
but the sores get worse over the week
the browning basement carpet cannot make
a diagnosis.
Will we always be healing something?
Making balms for our
onion skin,
brushing the inevitable
volatile oils from the knife, from
the eyes.
also like fruit, we look wonderful
mauve-lipped with the fanatic approval
of our selves
red berries used to dye skin, naturally
I stopped taking It because
the doctor doesn’t know my innards
the way I know them
and so fuck him.
Author Bio:
Lauren Lockhart is a working student living in Seattle, Washington. Her writing naturally gravitates towards themes of nature, women, healing and subversions of the status quo. Her work has appeared in Minerva Rising, Canary and The Hourglass.
the layers
not the smell or taste
but I say often all three,
we are stripping away translucence
in order to be more real
and more small
one membrane at a time
but the sores get worse over the week
the browning basement carpet cannot make
a diagnosis.
Will we always be healing something?
Making balms for our
onion skin,
brushing the inevitable
volatile oils from the knife, from
the eyes.
also like fruit, we look wonderful
mauve-lipped with the fanatic approval
of our selves
red berries used to dye skin, naturally
I stopped taking It because
the doctor doesn’t know my innards
the way I know them
and so fuck him.
Author Bio:
Lauren Lockhart is a working student living in Seattle, Washington. Her writing naturally gravitates towards themes of nature, women, healing and subversions of the status quo. Her work has appeared in Minerva Rising, Canary and The Hourglass.
RSS Feed