Literary Orphans

TEEN SPIRIT: Tooth Decay by Martina Dominique Dansereau

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You say show me your kind of sick

so I crack open my ribcage like

a walnut and smooth away the skin,

pull out my stomach, knife it,

twist it inside out. Inside,

a hornet’s nest: a mass of writhing wings

and yellow-black jackets.

Buzz. Sting.

You say I don’t understand

so I fold my guts back into my torso

and stitch it together.

In one piece, I rattle. Moonrock lungs,

knuckles like loose spoons, I am

all slack ends and hard spine.

I go weeks without talking to anyone

but my walls, make conversation

with the wallpaper. Hello, how are you?

—Just fine, thank you. Yourself?

I’m spinning sugar between my teeth.

You ask me to count my cavities

so I write letters to my insides, but

when it comes time to read aloud, I forget

how to speak the language that simmers.

Boil. Spark. Shiver.

Instead I light a match and swallow it.

Breathe acid fire.

Scorch. Sizzle.

I am trembling, full of light.

You pass me a glass of water, suggest

calling my therapist. This is how

it goes: we’re sitting across the table

from each other and my hands

are bloodied. There is no way for me

to make you understand my kind

of suffering, a black decay with

fingers scraping my ribs. Cloying.

Crackle. Consume.

O Typekey Divider

Martina Dominique Dansereau is a disabled, non-binary lesbian writer and artist whose works centre on trauma, marginalisation, and love, particularly as they intersect with gender, disability, mental illness, and LGBT issues. When not entrenched in academia or creating art, xe enjoys reading books with xyr snakes, who often fall asleep between the pages. You can find xem on Twitter and Instagram @herpetologics.

kjg

O Typekey Divider

–Art by Menerva Tau

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