exhaustion a symtom of surviving.

I want to ignite on a Sunday morning.

I want to be violent

I don’t want listless evenings

I don’t want to cry on the bus.
but they just want to fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, kill my babies, kill my lovers, kill my friends, take my money.

“you’re ok, have a good day at work”

I want to be numb.

I don’t want to be accountable to anyone for a day

I want to lay with no guilt

I want to lay and feel someone scratch my back, and rub my shoulders silently.

I want to burn the lake that I was once thrown in.

I want to put all the white people I’ve dated in a line, and scream at them.

I want to make people uncomfortable with being comfortable, as I am.

I want to whip a white boy.

I want to learn how to skip rocks.

I only want to give my money to black and brown people.

I want to be able to drink like I used to.

I want to share lipstick with a lover.

I want to tell secrets to toads.

i want to never respond to stupid questions.

I want no conversation fillers

I want to keep it trill 24/7.

i never want to write good poems.

I want to be called out by someone I love.

I want to float un noticed.

I want to bleed monthly.

I want to be a bridesmaid, never a bride.

 

I want to eat guava and pussy on the beach everyday and then quietly succumb to the ocean.

 

 

BAE AREA

maybe i’ll   s t o p fucking everyone.

vibrators are the sweetest lovers, anyways.

I don’t want to date anyone who doesn’t understand alone time.

i dream of being penetrated on beaches in daylight by dark clouds as we cry together.

“how are you”

                        “alright”

“what do you need”

“how can i support you”

this doesn’t feel like friendship.

this feels like pity.

 

i don’t know if sharing my body ever feels like sharing.

i don’t know if the imprints of rope will ever leave wrists.

i took a long shit in the bathroom so i could avoid everyone.

i lied about my evening plans so i could watch you tube videos & cry on my broken bed

my cats think poorly of me

but the babies i care for, scream when I leave them

some days that’s the only validity i need.

Reek bell is a queer mixed media artist based in Oakland, from south
jersey. Her work reflects experiences within identity, blackness,
resistance, friendship, and exhaustion.  A poet since third grade she
embraces melancholy,  values intimacy, magic, and militancy.

Photograph: Persistant 2014, Oakland, CA by Reek Bell