The Poet X

by Elizabeth Acevedo

The words sit in my belly, and I use my nerves like a pulley to lift them out of my mouth.

A story distorted, waiting for others to stop and stare.

Make poems from the sharp feelings inside, that feel like they could carve me wide open.

And I think about all the things we could be if we were never told our bodies were not built for them.

And I want to kick the fear in his voice.

the more I bruise the page the quicker something inside me heals.

heaving the words like weapons from my chest; they’re the only thing I can fight back with.

We’re wild women, flinging verses at each other like grenades in a battlefield, a cacophony of violent poems—

just need a moment, things to slow down, so I can undo the knots inside me.

this small moment of soft.

my daughter’s name wasn’t going to tell anybody any information they didn’t earn.