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SPILL ❋ Sarah Xerta

I keep trying to transform myself but I don’t know what into. Or: I know what but not how to
articulate a non-what thing/ how do you tongue something shapeless/ how do I give form to
myself without erasing myself/ what is there to erase/ And why this impulse? Always this
pulsing/ it’s why I never did end up slitting my wrists/ I just
love you too much. Love me too much.
I have the task now of loving myself forever. Recently I learned to like myself and we are getting
along quite fine, me myself & you/ I/ us. I no longer think of a garage
filled with gas and my lungs exploding inside me/it. The only suicide
I commit these days is suicide itself, which makes these bleak winter days especially bleak, not
even a tear to break up the molecules stretching my face sober, which is exactly what I’ve asked
for, to sit here alone without my loneliness, and yet—

I was going to say I miss you but I guess I’m not that brave yet. Already I can hear the people
talking and envision myself throwing my brain radio into a bathtub lined with candles. See those
sparks and know I love you with a fever that only seems symptomatic of an illness when you
stand under the pale umbrella of patriarchs/ how sick they are/ pretending to know better than
their hearts/ pretending to be God as a way to run from God/ pathologizing anything that isn’t
stagnant pond water so they can stay up to the neck in stagnant pond water/ what I mean is fuck

I love you so much oceans are starting to remember why they birthed themselves
And they are so proud
And so thankful
All that salt made from joy tears
Big beautiful babies
Just crying all over the Earth all the time
That’s how I want to be
How I used to be
It’s nine days until Christmas and I am purposely forgetting how to exist
so that I can remember why I exist.
What I’ve known all along: the seeds
of palm trees in my arm veins, a rib cage
spun from the rainbow arcs of dolphins, that happiness,
that pocket in the holograph where you voice came from, the shape
of your Divinity and how to carry it home, that we are carrying home/
that we are home. We are home. There is nowhere to go and everything
to remember. Shake with me now. Let me wipe the psychic debris from behind your pupils
so that I can better see myself in you. This is about me just as much as it is about you,
which explains why I always move from making myself
to love lettering you/ these twin impulses/ this sea-saw/ this movement/
must have something to do with transformation/
and yet—

what am I so afraid of/ what don’t I know/ how can I get closer/ or:
maybe it’s not about getting closer but remembering how close I already am/ about not moving
so I can feel the infinite movement We Are/
We Are
but how am I supposed to lay perfectly still
when it’s your breath that pulses these lightwaves up my spine? How can I
just be
when I am orgasming from every cell in my body/ who ever gave birth in silence?
Not me, not me, every moment I don’t feel you is a scream that guts me like a dull filet knife/
and I just a dumb fish/ belly spilling out eggs/
each one a chromosomatic blueprint/
for yours