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what came before?what came before
bare feet slapping against hot concrete, frozen in my memory, like a video frame you can't fast-forward, looped like that VCR tape of The Lion King you fried from watching every day, a candid photo shot at just the slightest of bad angles, a collage of magazine clippings with those bikini-clad ladies you stared too long at as a kid, the sweat beads draped across your neck as you sat in church that summer the AC broke, xeroxes of bruised elbows and bloody knees from bikes, ladders, tire swings, that stinging peroxide scream, the slash on your chin from your dad's razor you picked up at four, a long stare in the mirror before padding down the hall to calmly ask for a bandaid, cotton shorts stuck to the gashes in your legs, prickles on your skin from leg hair growing back in, girls laughing at the dinples in your thighs and lightning strikes across your breasts, you're jumping again, counting to 10, no, 15, c'mon, don't be lazy, fuck it – 50!, a screenshot of you suspended at the top, your feet never hit the ground.
what came before?
there is no order in memory; only webs of sticky strings, balancing beams, silky trails, cloth unfurling
suddenly you submerge into the pool you first swam in, feel the ocean crashing into your skin, the blood trickling between your legs, the fiery ring, newborn screams, fireflies floating, lullabies whispering in the distance
there is no before, no after; a never-ending in-between
stumbling
ankles skid against the streets.
bare feet hitting the hot pavement, stuck in my mind like a paused video, replayed like that worn-out Lion King tape you watched every day, a photo taken at a slightly wrong angle, a mix of magazine cutouts with those bikini-clad women you stared at too long as a kid, the sweat on your neck while sitting in church that summer when the AC broke, copies of bruised elbows and scraped knees from bikes, ladders, tire swings, that burning peroxide scream, the cut on your chin from your dad's razor you picked up at four, a long look in the mirror before walking down the hall to calmly ask for a bandage, cotton shorts sticking to the cuts on your legs, tingling on your skin from leg hair growing back, girls laughing at the dimples in your thighs and stretch marks on your breasts, you're jumping again, counting to 10, no, 15, come on, don't be lazy, forget it – 50!, a snapshot of you at the top, your feet never touch the ground.
what came before?
there is no order in memory; only webs of sticky strings, balancing beams, silky trails, cloth unfolding
suddenly you dive into the pool you first swam in, feel the ocean hitting your skin, the blood flowing between your legs, the burning ring, newborn cries, fireflies floating, lullabies softly singing in the distance
there is no before, no after; a never-ending in-between
stumbling
ankles sliding against the streets.