Rae Stone

 

Saltwater Taffy

My lungs fill 
with seawater, 
my legs wrapped 
in kelp, 
hooks carve 
gills in my 
throat.

Nets web
my hands, 
goggles fuse 
to my face, 
sails become 
fins on my 
ears and 
back. 

And in this 
transformation 
I hear my sisters
call to me, 
urging me
to use 
my voice 
against those
who tossed me
to the mercy 
of the sea.

What they couldn’t know
is that the ocean
hides creatures 
that feed on 
monstrous men;
not even 
the gods 
would interfere 
with the wretches
that lurk 
in the deep, 
in the dark, 
below.

Foreign Object Detected

TW: dysphoria in regards to reproductive organs

The blood of the covenant
is thicker than the water
of the womb.
Is that why mine
is foreign to me?
Why my mind rejects
its place inside
my body?
The blood of
my covenants
has been forged
in heartache,
laughter,
and apathy.
This womb
fights my body
to shed more blood.
Cause more pain.
Take up space
where it isn't wanted.
Yes, some will envy
my womb for working
as designed.
But I was not consulted
on this matter.
Gladly I would
give up the source
of my suffering
to those who call me
selfish.
If it is selfish
to want to bask in
the covenants I cultivated
like precious seedlings,
so be it.
If it is wicked
to go against
my biology,
so be it.

Match for a corpse

Tw: death

I feel as though
I am a walking corpse
that hasn’t caught on
that I am already dead. 

I could tell you that
I’ve been in this state
of undead since I
was twelve, but
if I’m honest
I could feel
the decay
long before. 

Where is my pyre?
My eulogy or memorial
plaque? Does no one else
see I’m all but a ghost
inhabiting a rotting form? 

No, they much
prefer to hang spices
around their neck
to keep the stench away
and pretend I am not
trapped in this
festering Alcatraz. 

So I wait.
Wait for my time
to shed this
exoskeleton weighing
my soul. Wait for the day
I can light this body
aflame
and rid myself
of this persistent plague.

 

Rae Stone is a poet from Boston, Massachusetts. They enjoy utilizing nature to explore social issues and personal experiences. When they aren't writing they can be found people watching, cuddling their dog, or crocheting too many items at once.