j marvain
j marvain (she/they) is a transfem writer from delaware. she believes all mammals are just different shapes of rat, and all emotions are in tune with shifts in nature.
Easy read of the poems in the images above:
cartography
in the turned stomach of your after
i saw a map of the stars
to lose years of bittersweet memories
is to understand
“forever”
faces twisted in anguish
as your entrails
spilt over
we are taught that death is inevitable,
and that it is pain
we are taught that pain is a weight,
and that it lightens, in time
but buried somewhere in the blood
was a promise that our flesh
is not
“forever”
and what a beautiful sight it is,
the regret-knotted organs
leaving your stomach
open
for open is free;
there is no such thing as emptiness
“forever”
even the oldest body is mutable
even the faintest stars bear
some kind of light
like pins set in perfect order
that might just spill
into you
birds, birds
i never did learn how to speak properly.
words strung together like telephone poles
lining a street;
each conversation a bird on the wire.
it's not that i couldn't find the right ones
to use
no,
i have too many
they all spill out of me at once
in my head, i see
the punchline to a joke so clearly
and work my way towards it
but every road has some detour,
some with no streetlights
there are talon marks lining my throat
that cannot seem to heal
perhaps that is why the noise i speak
is so dissonant
words have to pass through cuts that still bleed
before they can reach
anyone at all
i remember nothing,
but i remember every bird.
each of their wings held its own pattern
like butterflies on end
i cannot -
no,
i will not give in to regret
my body is marked with reminders
that it was not built for speaking to beings of flight
i am a memorial of every missed signal,
every ounce of sarcasm i read straight,
every hint of interest unseen
in dreams, i think
there will be some flightless things
that can speak in circles
and we will sit there
on wires
until hours pass like minutes -
weightless.
