Michael T. Smith

Michael T. Smith is an Associate Professor of English who teaches both writing and film courses. He has published roughly 300 pieces (poetry and prose) in over 100 different journals.

Easy read of the poem in the images above:

I can’t control my body

TW: historical medicalization of women, modern-day political control, and the woe of religious impositions

The landscape of the political
is a topography of scratches.
I’ve read these things with eyes
moving so quickly I got motion sickness.

Sweat forms upon my brow.
I can’t control it – it’s not unconscious
but is without my approval;
my body, it speaks volumes.

In response,
they say you
are a criminal for what you believe.
They say you are a criminal for wanting to be free.
The other side says you are a criminal for using cliches –

which is criminal.

It’s sad to know you’ve gone through it all
with only your body in tow--
that the one body you’ve wrapped your arms around
felt distant and cold,

that the only skin you’ve ever known
is your own.
And it’s rough and hewn and not even warm.

My hands, they clench
of their own accord,
and making a kine unto the populous,
they sign a signal of distress,

For they tell a story of me --
a history so infirm
it hasn’t even happened yet.

My body
is a history book that speaks of another life:
while the news today tells a story
that is nothing “new,” but rather

the same old story on repeat.
Hollywood’s not the only one
that loves remakes.
In fact, real life takes all the cakes.

And these scars --
a scrimshaw of trauma
etched for a memory
I want to forget,
etched for the ages –
whatever that may be for me.

My body is the topic
even though they’ve never met me,
never knew my name,
never knew I existed.

I am the topic on their lecherous
ips. I am the subject
unwanted into their house
whose walls echo without --

And my lips move of their own accord.
I cannot control
when they quiver, when they
shake and dribble.

(only when they speak)

My voice has an urgency,
and I beg them:
I claw at my throat,
so I can speak more clearly.

They have come for me;
they have come dominatingly, and
I can’t control my body.
I can only control how loud I scream.