by Samantha Sabatini

I slipped into the berry field
With humiliation and guilt
We strode side by side
And I explained for infinities

About how signs of affection
Clenches my chest, compresses my lungs.
Unable to pinpoint why,
But I cannot endure the open tenderness-
The words that attach to feelings
The sounds that shatter my glass brain
The action that shrinks my body,
Shriveling my naked skin
And I’m begging to the Devil,
Make it stop, make it halt, and depart

The affection curses me with angles with abnormal degrees
That paralyze my body from the neck down.
Acidic pulses rupture my scientific body,
Swallowing my vomit,
Losing my woman touch,
My unborn dying inside

Rush me to the hospital, I tell guilt
Cause my organs are in conflagration.
Cause my body is a pussy, I tell humiliation
That cannot digest sentiment.
Please save me from my condition, devilish ghost
No reply. The devil isn’t the devil if they don’t leave me hanging

I slipped into the berry field with the trees gaping at me
The pebbles and rocks underneath my feet,
Purposely making it hard for me to walk.
The vegetation swelling and inflaming my eyelids,
Because it knows I’m allergic to pollen.

The truth is I say to my friends,
I lost my pal
Because I could never perform
The affection that she desired me to show her
And without it,
She cried
Cause she relied heavily on it
To know that others care about her,
Or maybe that’s how everyone is
And I just can’t stomach it.

My pal ran away
My pal got lonesome
My pal gave up
My pal sealed the chapter of our encounter in life

And I am now,
Twisting my insides out, sewing my mouth shut
Because if I can’t use my voice, then these lips are purposeless
And I’m…
Shaving my head, ripping every hairy follicle out of my skin
Tilting my head to the side so that my neck hurts at its best,
Draining the days away with my grotesque self-pity.

But then I had a premonition,
A coming up of a formula,
That could get others to like me,
To feel loved by me

Possibly just possibly,
If I can’t especially use words
I can instead generate the response
Of perpetual emotion
By simply crying.

Would my tears make you love me,
When you pour your affection onto me?
Would my red, puffy eyes supply you with persuasion,
With faith in that I do care about you?
Will I be received well,
If I cry my own wishing well,
That others can place their dreams and hopes in,
And believe in my capacity for endearing sentiment?

Let go of my hands, Guilt and Humiliation
And let me bury you by these Hawthorn berries
Allow me to slip out of this dimension
And return to the society
As a person who aids their lacrimal gland,
To produce all such tears necessary
When affection slaps my being.
Don’t you believe in me?

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