Poetry Writer

Anger, in Four Parts

Part 3: Disgust

The smell of It
the acrid bile
of It’s breath
has me feverishly

itchingitchingitchingitching

It’s very presence
has my skin crawling, 
writhing in protest 
and has me obsessively

scratchingscratchingscratchingscratching

It is a putrid sludge
that slides down 
my skin, like 
sticky, hot brown
molasses
that has me helplessly

gagginggagginggagginggagging

It spools around 
my stomach and 
washes acid 
through my guts
that has me painfully

bloatingbloatingbloatingbloating

It envelops me 
It coils It’s sinewy, 
lustful arms around
my trembling figure
that has me unendingly

thinkingthinkingthinkingthinking

about all my calloused fears
about all my spiny bristles

itchingscratchinggaggingbloatingthinking

about every hand that smacked my cheeks raw
about every ear that turned deaf to my cries

itchingscratchinggaggingbloatingthinking

Until It becomes I 
and I become It
and there are no 
boundaries between
what It has done to me
and what I will do to

everyone else

Eventually.

itchingscratchinggaggingbloatingthinking…

itchingscratchinggaggingbloatingthinking…


itchingscratchinggaggingbloatingthinking…


itchingscratchinggaggingbloatingthinking

Hello all. I am a full-time writer who is constantly discovering her voice. I write poetry, personal narratives and short stories. I'm always open to reaching and connecting with new readers, so leave me a comment or question. Let's start a dialogue! Don't forget to follow me here, on my Twitter/Instagram (@exisflor) and YouTube Channel (Alexis Attempts to Write).

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