Othering Yourself

We are all a sum of our experiences
but if you experienced my life
slipped off your mocassins and into
my pink heels you would feel no healing.
No mending or bending of the scar tissue
no realligning of the stars
the lights within us shine different vibrations
this is no labyrinth-- all paths are one and they all
lead to different doors, more like portals
windows to our mortality, the brief tangibility of my reality
the ability to say I see the sky and its above me
but so are you when I have my fingers buried in the earth
your face a pale moon hanging like paper lanters
strung outside the alter that I've built around my poetry
the words I worship, they give life to this basic body
keep my sole on the floor, my head on my shoulders
but my words mean nothing to the sweet song of Spanish
that lead me when I refused to follow
my comfort became the cage of language
used in lieu of our senses
but when you run your tongue along the bars
can't you taste the metal melting?
    in the back of your throat like right before you puke--
regurgitating the familiar urge to say
when you see the moon and these stars
       don't you feel small?




-The Shutter Muse