Lizzy Burnam 🐞

First, be a poet. Speak 
only in rhyme, riddle, and metaphor 
until confusion melts the wax 
out of listeners’ ears. 
Act only out of spite 
or out of love for oneself, which might 
be argued are the same thing: 
Keep your head down, your heart free, 
and never let anyone—not 
even those you think you love—
tell you who you are. 
Be only who you are (and glaringly). 
Flash on like a street lamp 
when someone crosses you. 
Write dirges for the ones you’ve lost by now,
and sing them in major keys. 
Stare directly into the voyeurs’ eyes, 
and if they love you, let them love you. 
Let them drink the sweat from your palms
and chew on your ankles like dogs 
until they’re limp and you’re limping. 
Be generous with your time, 
but not your attention. 
Do not purchase anything 
that doesn’t cost a little piece of your soul,
and sell nothing for less. 
Make love to the patches of sun 
streaming in through your window. 
Turn white and howl when you cum.
Spill into the stinging air, 
let midnight cling to your bones 
until the joints of your fingers 
lock up around your phone, 
but call no one. Have no one to call. 
On good days, giggle 
at your own slippery words, 
and on bad days, cry 
for the child you once were.  
When you’re worried you won’t survive 
one more tangled moment of grief, 
summon the ghost of youth 
to possess your wearied legs 
and dance like the devil’s come 
to steal your shoelaces. 
Shed your skin from time to time, 
peel your lips down and rip 
them from your teeth to your toes. 
Wear your shattered nerves 
like a string of patio lights 
around your throat. 
Crawl into the forest. 
Rest your bloodied knees in the mud. 
Cover yourself with a blanket 
of rain-soaked moss 
and disappear.