sierrademulder:

It will not happen the first time you forgive him.
Or the second. Or the third. It will not happen the fourth time

you break down in public. When a wine glass is broken

at a dinner party and you leave without saying goodbye.
When a car door is slammed across the empty parking lot

and you have the undeniable urge to call him. Tell him you miss him.

It will not happen when you write this poem. When you finally
claim what happened to you as if it was a child

you abandoned when you were too young to know better.

Say it: abuse survivor. Abuse survivor. You will never
want to say it. Why give your love such a dirty name?

                 It will happen when you try, so foolishly, to love another.

To crawl naked into their lap like a blind child:
this doe-eyed heart you found in the garden.

Each night, you will try so hard to touch their face.

Your fingers will shake. You will be crying and you will not
know why and it’s not their fault. It’s not their fault.

It’s not their fault they are an un-swung axe.

- Sierra DeMulder

“The ambiguous identity of the second interlocutor lends wonderful multidimensional facets to the relationship between the text and readers. However, the absolute knowledge of the identity does not particularly matter, because the actual ignition of a self-conscious path towards meaningful responses holds more value than the means by which the speaker advances herself. The means can change, yet the journey and its lessons always remain steadfast in their consistency. Powerful writing, and the deployment of various poetic devices, with the pristine skill of a surgeon riding the high of two Red Bulls, can certainly be found in this chapbook….”

–Domenic Scopa in Misfitmagazine.net/ w/ a lovely & insightful review of my & Elizabeth Schmuhl’s collaborative book Q/A. Thank you

http://misfitmagazine.net/archive/No-16/xertareview.html

Today I want to write a poem that doesn’t involve me climbing

out of the thorny ash pit of myself. Contrary

to my own most popular beliefs about myself,

I am not always hunched anorexic

in the damp corner of despair. I am not always

grasping at your ankles in the desparate

hope that you’ll drag me home into your pain.

I am not always okay with being dragged. I am actually

not at all okay with being treated like a rag doll

for you to bend spineless over the side of the couch.

I mean yeah I like to fuck but I like being a person

even more. It really turns me on, to sit here breathing

all by myself in my king-size bed. The window

is open and outside of it is a sky I know

I am a part of. When I love the sky I feel

the sky love me back, and I feel unworthy

of this big love but also

I know I am worthy. I know

I am a person and the more I insist on this reality

the less you’ll be able to tear it away from me like the rabid

animal you know you sometimes are.

This is hard work but I’m worth it.

I exist and that is awesome.

And maybe tomorrow I will disagree with myself,

but that’s okay because I love myself,

which means I am allowed to wake up

and spit dirt at the fucking dirt if I feel like it. I will swing my fists

in my general direction if I want to. But today

I don’t want to. Today my intestines

are just regular pink. I don’t even feel them,

which is nice sometimes, to exist quietly inside myself

like a field that nobody has tractored through,

or named. Today I am every moment

before it takes the shape of a moment, the gold

and green light waves that pulse up through the center of you

but never step foot into the shackles

of knowing. This is how I wanted you to see me:

inside of you. With your eyes closed.

No

/nō/

Copyright © 2015 Sarah Xerta

sarahxerta.com

all parts of this text may be used

and in fact you are encouraged to do so

Also by Sarah Xerta:

JULIET (II) (Nostrovia! Poetry, 2015)

Nothing To Do with Me (University of Hell Press, 2015)

JULIET (I) (H_NGM_N Books, 2014)

Red Paper Heart (Zoo Cake Press, 2013)

Q/A (in collaboration w/ Elizabeth Schmuhl,  

          www.wexarexopen.com, 2015)

sarahxerta.com/ @sarahxerta

exclamation: no

1. used to give a negative response.

    “Get in the shower with me.” “No.”

    “This is your fault. Have sex with me and fix this.” “No.”

    “Fix this.” “No.”

    “Fix this.” “No.”

    “FIX THIS.” “NO.”    

synonyms:

absolutely  not, most certainly not, of course not, under no  circumstances, by no means, not at all, negative, never, not really;

informal  nope, uh-uh, nah, not on your life, no way, ixnay; 

archaic  nay

“no,  you hurt me”

“no,  I can’t have sex with you right now”

antonyms:

yes

The first time I said no was five weeks earlier:

                                      No. I don’t like to fight. I’m a lover, not a fighter.

He says: LOL okay.

                                                                What?

He says: You can’t have one without the other.

                Fighting when you’re in love means there’s something worth fighting for.

This was the power he had, to say things that sounded so right they had to be true. Or, at least, true enough to make you stop and think for a minute, to keep you from your own No, to rope you into his Yes.

Marry me, marry me, say you’ll marry me

Yes

Yes

Yes

I’ve lost track of how long he kept me from myself like this, and what does it matter anymore? Counting all the things you’ve lost doesn’t bring any of them back. The opposite: the more I count my loss the more it is solidified, some days so heavy I can’t get out of bed.

Some days getting out of bed is a way of saying yes and no at the same time, a synthesis, a putting together of parts. These are verb things/ a process. I emphasize process as a way of saying no to death/ him. Theoretically it should be enough for me to stand beneath the sun and breathe. I shouldn’t have to say or do anything else. What I mean is I wish I was a plant. No mouth to open/ no mouth for him to fuck/ clamp shut. Plants don’t have to say no or yes. They just are. I wish I was simple/ complex like that.

But I am a human so I have to do human things like keep myself alive. I guess technically my breathing is involuntary, along with cell regeneration and blood circulation. But that’s only because I eat when I’m hungry and drink when I’m thirsty i.e. I am indebted to this body I don’t even want to be in. I have to think about these things yet the thinking happens without my consent. I say yes without meaning to. Maybe something deep inside me wants it. I mean that’s what he would say.

Like this my thoughts ruin everything. Saying No is not enough. These words are proof of that. If it was enough I wouldn’t need to say more. If it was enough he would’ve stopped.

He might never stop. They often don’t. Saying No is a way to conserve energy, then, to keep from screaming forever. Not that I discourage screaming but it gets exhausting. You get depleted. You spend all year fighting for a space to call your own but now you are too tired to live inside of it/ feel like you don’t even fit.

Sometimes when you scream it’s like he’s still right there in front of you/ why else would you be screaming. You spend all year fighting him and still your life revolves around him. Like the sun he’s drawn out your orbit. You’ve turned your back to him but still he determines the length of your shadows/ is the reason for shadows/ darkness. Saying No will only get you so far.

What else can you do with No? That’s what I’ve been thinking about, which is something you can do with any word besides mouth it: think/ a process. These words are a meditation on that/ the yes that follows No/ is No/ embedded in. I am more than my mouth/ a hole. 

The other week I said No and couldn’t stop saying it. I didn’t even have to reach for it, like the word was a part of me, it was the closest to just being I have ever been. For three days straight I said nothing but No:

No to that asshole and to that one over there

No to your legal threats

No to your lies

No to those cis people filling their quota

No to your tone-police

No to your career

No to the Poets shitting on poetry

No to your community

No to your basic white friends

No to your fucked brand of civility

No to brands in general

No to your uncivility

No to your tea party etiquette BORING

No to your bullshit CALLING IT

No to your prioritizing niceness THIS PAIN IS NOT A POTLUCK

No to further articulating what I mean

No because I don’t have time

No because my daughter needs me

No because I’ve got poems to write

No because I never liked you anyway

No because I don’t give a fuck

It feels great!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Facebook only lets you post the same status update twice in a row (Patriarch!) so I had to come up with other ways of saying No, like Fuck no and Hell no and Nope. My friends liked it. They said Nah and Nada and of course not. I felt like we were writing a song.

I took a photo in the dark and the small light on my phone’s camera made a circle in the bathroom mirror. I put the photo on Instagram, sang

Putting the O in NO/ an opening/ you are

If you say No real slow it can be broken into two sounds: N and O. I am fixated on the O/ stepping through it

                                                              Clouds swirl around my ankles

I look up and the sky stretches so long it takes me forever/ a process/ infinite space. I say No and cloud rings puff from my mouth like a professional space-maker/ I am

                          O      O      O      O

It occurs to me that No might be a way of saying yes/ making space for Yes/ myself/

I look at the photo again and see the line of light that intersects the O. I say 

NNN and feel my tongue press against the roof of my mouth/ the line I make in

my mouth/ you cannot get past this line/ wall/ inside me/ we are in present 

tense now/ we are making/ moving/ a process/ life

NNNNNNNNN as the line of bricks we put down

NNNNNNNNN as a foot

NNNNNNNNN as the point of impact

NNNNNNNNN as the vibration new planets make spinning out into themselves

NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

 NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

[say it out loud/ this isn’t Art/ this is guided meditation/ the closest to art/ they will never get]

NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

I look up the etymology of the word No and see it has two elements, ne and aiw, where ne cognates “no, not” and aiw cognates “vital force, life, long life, eternity.” I think about my NNNNNN and OOOOOO/ the line of bricks, the clouds around my ankles/ and feel validated by language/ know I can’t have one without the other/ know that in some ways he was right/ in some ways I will never fully escape him/ in some ways it will always be about him/ this is what happens when someone’s been inside you/ when you go on living anyway.

There will always be pain. I am not going to pretend otherwise. I wouldn’t judge you for choosing otherwise/ death/ (to die is also a process).

I mean it’d be nice if we could just live in the clouds, say O and aiw and never have to carry a brick or put a foot down or think about him or them at all. I used to live this way/ was a lover not a fighter/ didn’t know you couldn’t have one without the other/ didn’t know anything about power/ what my body means/ in a world built on filling/ bodies shaped like mine.

It’s true that for a while he made me feel alive. Mid-October/ all the red trees in their final days.

I said yes and forever and love/ the month of O!!!!!

I stopped weighing myself/ liked myself/ was high.

Now I know better, that love without fight/ aiw without ne/ clouds without bricks/ will leave you with nothing/ is worth nothing/ no one notices/ when a cloud disappears.

Look at me fighting so big, baby. You should be proud. You helped father this scream. And best of all

is that I do it all

in the name of Love.

Listen:

aiw cognates life

life comes from the Proto-Germanic libam

libam cognates body

he fucked my body/ life

took my body/ life

there in November/ dead month/ again

again I am (in)validated by language

it’s just that sometimes

I don’t want to be right

I’m sorry. I’m expending too much energy on him/ the past/ solidifying my past/ loss/ No conserves energy and in a fight that is important.

Let’s stop/

as a way to begin/

Say NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN    

I love the springboard that NNNNN makes/ a line with coils inside it/ all the molecules buzzing in my throat like a drumroll/ an announcement/ a welcoming/ process/ me into life

I love

that I spelled No in a photo without trying to

that No is the light in that dark room

that photograph is Latin for writing of the light

that photographs are made from negatives/ no is a negative

                              expose negatives to light

                                                           to make a photo/ to make/ a process

   photo / synthesis

                       a putting together

                                 of parts

  I am becoming me/ like a plant

 You are entitled to yourself  

I love

that I don’t have to specify

Who I’m talking to

I know you will know

By the tightness in your chest

The swelling in your belly

That these words are for you

Even though they’re not enough

Like your No was not enough

Still I mean everything I say

You are enough

Just breathing there like that

You put the O in No

An opening/ you are

                                                                                                            infinite

There is nothing to be said of this sadness

You have to be a giant walking paradox

Or at least recognize that you are

Recognize that you’re recognizing that you are

Because you are                  Spit of star-dust

What a phenomenon           To feel like a prisoner

                                             In a body that is always moving

wexarexopenxyouxare:

The books on mindfulness

tell me to embrace my suffering

but I don’t know how much deeper I can climb

into this black hole. Should I let the black hole

climb into me? I am trying to imagine what this looks like

and see an enormous bottle of Xanax

waterfalling down into me, poured by the

invisible hand that lives in my upper right peripheral.

Hand of doctor, hand of god, hand of savior, hand of dad.

All these man things.

Today a nurse examined my breasts

and I felt so flat beneath her hands. It’s something

I want to always remember,

though I’d like to forget the stir-ups, the enormous Q-tip

poking at my cervix    Is this how it feels

for a flower to be sucked dry

is what I want to say

but I am not a flower. I am a person

stripped of her personhood

and stuffed inside a woman’s body. I am a person

with two X chromosomes

and people think this means something tangible about me.

Okay I guess I will never grow a beard on my own. How does this affect

my value as a person? Am I a woman now?

Some men can’t grow beards. 

I light a cigarette

and think about all the ways to be intimate with you, all the ways

we have been intimate but not allowed

to call something other than friendship. I hear them

saying it doesn’t count unless we moan, always

they want to hear us cry. 

I don’t care. I am okay with friendship. I am okay

with eating ice cream next to you 

while sunlight moves through your hair, 

or is it your hair

that’s moving through the light? 

I can never tell, which is how

we both like it. Like this you are one 

with things. Like this

you have known me.

I just want to hold your hand

in the backseat of a car

and email you photos of us holding hands

in the backseat of a car. I feel the river

coming up through me. This is me 

swimming towards you, 

call it breathing, call it yes.

new poem at wexarexopen.com

(via wexarexopenxyouxare)

When people come to me I want them to feel like they are standing at the edge of a lake. I want to be reflective like that, cool like that, calm like that. When they touch me I want them to feel infinite and not because of me but because of them. I want you to love yourself, why don’t you love yourself, who’s been stopping you all these years?

I study neuroscience and know we are infinite. There are a trillion neural pathways in each of our brains, it’s no wonder we feel lost, it’s no wonder we always find ourselves anyway, blinking up at the light like the children we fear we still are.

We still are.

I want to love myself but first I have to find her/ what was ever found that wasn’t fueld by love? Curisoity/ the desire to know/ to know/ to undo the fear that keeps us from ourselves/ each other.

I got so close to you, it was like living inside you, all those chains rattling against your insides. I picked so many of your locks/ you let me touch everything except for you.

I gave you everything, including me, like a mother I loved you unconditionally/ is there any other way to love/ if there is I don’t want to know it/ I need to know it.

I cannot let you rape me I cannot let you rape me I cannot let you rape me/ you raped me/ I won’t unsay it because you can’t undo it.

But still. This bundle of axons I’m always toeing along, this imaginary tie to you/ madness/ how are these feelings any less real than when I said I loved you/ how are you actually any further away? So much of what we built was invisible/ so much of what you destroyed was invisible/ still, all of this matters.

I am tired of not being known/ touched/ able to exist in all my human parts. I keep telling people I am mangled from the inside out but I never actually show them/ myself/ hold myself.

I’ve clung to my truths as a way to avoid other truths. This poem was once as true as this poem and I am both of them and neither and more all at once. “I contain multitudes” lol but really it’s true. There is no room for nuance and there is room/ I have to make room/ secretly/ I am it.  

Everything I do is in service to someone else, an addiction to being needed/ useful. I try to break this cycle and all my illusions break away/ I am left with myself/ nothing.

I slip into this pain and think of you curled up like an infant on the floor in your apartment because the cap to your water bottle didn’t click three times/ or maybe it did/ how can you know/ I don’t know/ the water/ the water/ the germs. They really are everywhere. I used to suspect you were magic for being able to sense them/ this magic thinking of mine/ this is how I built you/ loved you.

Don’t mistake these words as me saying yes. I refuse to be ping-ponged from one side of the dichotomy to the other/ I am not an object, after all/ I object/ I am infinite.

I am a person. The danger is that I project my inner self onto others/ when I humanize myself I cannot help but humanize you/ love you/ myself. I need all of these things to be okay/ I need to have my needs met/ I need to learn how to say no as a way of saying yes/ to myself/ you/ the part I never reached.

I write as if you are inextricable from me/ maybe this is a truth/ a lie to distract me from other truths.

I don’t actually know.

I sit down against the wall and hug my knees to my chest like the child I feel that I am. This is what she needed/ needs/ this is where she is. Go there, I say to myself, and I realize I say it only to myself.

For most of my life I didn’t know how to say no to anyone because I imagined everyone as the babies they once were/ everyone as innocent/ everyone as hurting. This is selfish pacifist thinking/ this was me projecting/ this was a cry for help coming up from the depths of me/ every person became a mirror for the unloved self in me/ I just never learned how to recognize her.

Still sometimes I don’t recognize her/ she is not always a her/ but she is something/ she is holding me now. I hug myself and become her/ she becomes my guide. I close my eyes and show her my thoughts, how often I think about leaving, those thoughts like fiberglass, they insulate me.

She looks at me and says No. She doesn’t even beg, her voice still like the lake I want to be/ she knows I want to be/ she knows I will listen. She just has to say it/ I just have to listen. I will listen.

I am listening, still. Stay.