self portraits and religious politics

i painted my toenails red because i don't know the color of my insides anymore.

i've been thinking and i'm sure my heart's copper because rust gets caught in the corners. the last man to fill the pump didn't screw the cap on tight enough. he didn't rinse the hoses after the flood, didn't bring the pink buds anything to drink.

my head's a blur of flesh tones and confessionals. let me tell you a secret, mr milkman. i resent that i let go and let god, i let god and i let go. i confessed and conceded, father. you are my clock-maker and time-taker. your honorary doctorate makes you my pacemaker. you turn the hearts of the children to the fathers and the hearts of the fathers to the children, but you're driving with a hell of a lot of influence over my internal organs. i forgot my gag reflex at home and i let 'im reach far enough down my throat to stop my heart from spilling over.

they chant "jesus for president" but a carpenter doesn't have many credentials in washington. he'll decrease the military budget and increase welfare spending. what's debt on earth is credit in heaven.

my hands are purple, artist's purple. knobby knuckles and blue river veins mapping my pulse and my deficiencies. the folds in my skin read "life-line: break, fate-line: death, head-line: oblivion, heart-line: fading." my hands are critical. they used to clench-punch-pound as if they could cross out lines written by somebody else. i told them that they can't erase my thighs, and they lose some of their red every day. i told them they don't look like "man's hands" like i thought, and i pour them love and coffee every day. my heart now listens to what they have to say.

i've got green feet. eco-friendly, recycle-me green. take-your-heels-off-and-walk-across-the-grass-barefoot green. my feet are quiet, my feet are thoughtful. they took thich nhat hanh's words and practiced them, believed Buddha and Christ were brothers and prayed in blasphemy. i've got green feet.

i don't want to write about my legs. this was supposed to be a forgiveness poem.

my legs are full speed ahead, ask questions later. they tell me to listen to my grandfather when he says i need to get my cardio up, when he asks for a copy of my exercise schedule in exchange for college tuition. they tell me, see? you are worthless without us. you are nothing if you have cellulite, if you have stretch marks. they push my hands onto my purple scars and drag my fingertips across the ridges, they tell me to exercise. they tell me i can eat fruit and vegetables, but they cringe at the word "carbohydrate." fruit is a carbohydrate, i say. then you can drink some water, they tell me. they call me names, i say. who? she asks. my legs, i say. you are stupid, she says. you are crazy, she says. they call me names, i say. you are a fat ugly pig. unless they want to sleep with you, you are nothing, they say. if you give them what they want, you are a slut, they say. kill yourself. no one wants you, you bitch, they say. you are stupid. you are a good-for-nothing whore. you think you will graduate college? without your body, you are NOTHING. you depressing cun-

my lips are red. red lipstick stains my teeth. sometimes i wish it was blood.