Author: Ingrid Calderon

Ingrid Calderon has been published in FORTH magazine, ZO magazine, and Earthbound Review. Follow her on Tumblr.

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being the baby

the little

requires many dresses

being the baby

the little

requires knotted tresses

sweet caresses

warm hands on grouses

ripped open blouses

being the baby

the little

seems easy until it hurts

seems easy until short skirts

fly up

and I let you see

my

vulnerability

being the baby

the little

I forget

your hands set fire

to the choir

in the chamber

of my heart

take cover

and restart

cause the little knows it’s time

to say goodbye

terror of death

I don’t wanna feel like home

I wanna make you fight

and bleed

until your crooked teeth

straighten

until your broken nose bleeds

on my box

with so many presents 

and gifts and cuts

switchblade kisses 

and belt embraces

there are so many circles above me

talkin’ and spittin’ words

whisky and gin

muffle my doubts

with a cigarette

remind me with a slap

how much you love me

oath fact

these small breasts

bare scars of love 

and past encounters left astray



these small breasts 

swell and wane depending on the season


these small breasts weren’t so small

when I was nine

naïve and boyish

not at all co-que-ttish

just unaware 

that young boys glancing

meant nothing more

than curiosity


fast forward decades

and cheap romances

I cut off tension

and pierced diagonal

restraints from pleasure

lateral encounters

of tongues and teeth

gone numb 

on purpose

until they grew

only not literally

just with excitement

of the release 

of fastened uprising

and centered frailty

at the first lick 

of pleased redemption

wounded whitening

my crooked teeth 

I blame on trauma

on beatings 

opened flesh


them grinded teeths 

scrapping off hate

playacting 

I deserved it


the bone loss

quivers

no corkscrew used


in parks 

on highways

supping down 


numbing 

the gaffe 

of bitter drink

between them crooked 

tines


some casted thorns

I puncture skin 

lost path

until

I whisk it down

slapping my lips

in just approval 

of bitter teeth

now full of pain warm pithy spit