Trista Mateer

Coming Home
It took me too long

to realize it was

not

romantic(, tender, or healthy)

to love someone else

more than I loved

myself.

For the One Who Loved My Hands

More than Anything Else

You saw only what you wanted to.

There were flowers blooming between my teeth,

promises wrapped around my hips,

handstands in the gangly corners of me.

There were blades in my hands.

I was carving my name into your side

and you were calling me soft,

calling me gentle.

I do not think you were paying attention.

Texts I Shouldn’t Have Sent to My Ex:

can we say goodbye again? i miss the way you rip me open.

sometimes i think i resented you so much it felt like love.

She sent me to Sunday school in little floral dresses, not to torture me but to learn this.

Hurt me once: shame on me. Hurt me twice: shame on me. Hurt me three times: shame on me but fuck you. Hurt me four times and we’ll get severed-head biblical. We will pick up stones.

And now that I am older, I don’t give a damn about sin. I will be the first to cast one.

I learned the word fuck from my mother’s tongue,

as in fucker, he fucking left me,

he fucking left.

I learned the word no from myself.
From somewhere deep in the pit of me,
it rose like some ancient thing
and slunk its way out of my throat,
heavy-handed.

Will I ever let this guard down long enough
to learn anything new?

Fuck no.

For Brittanie

There will always be men

who have fishhooks for fingers.

There will always be women

with wet, sharp mouths.

It is okay to get caught up in them.

It is not okay to drown.

Don’t you ever let another human

being tear you apart.

Remember that you have claws

and teeth, too.

Remember that you are better off

whole.

My hands are still shaking from
nights spent not knowing
how to want you.

My girl says, “come on, baby, lay it on me”

and I still don’t know if she’s talking about my story

or my mouth.

I Wish There Was a Better Way to Say This:

the way you yank smiles out of me
like stubborn teeth

scares the shit out of me.