1 Poem by BEE LB
first date / end date
after Sabrina Benaim
i’m climbing into my own skin, wrapping my body tight around me
a defense where there is none to be found. i could’ve said where none is needed,
but i won’t know that til later. when i say hello, i mean i need you. when i say i need you,
i mean my desperation indebts me to you. indebted to you from the start, we fall off-kilter.
i don’t mind. owing my joy to you gives the rush of a rollercoaster, that stomach-drop
pleasure-fear-anticipatory-fire. no, i don’t mind at all. when i catch sight
of the crooked curve of your lips, i figure you don’t mind much either.
your breath rushes out the same as mine, except you linger.
tell me about the tingle shivering through your whole body
once you finally stop spinning long enough to see me straight.
tell me then what it takes to control your own body—
tell it to move and it moves; tell it to stop and it stops.
but we never want it to stop, do we?
oh, me? i couldn’t stop even if i wanted to.
my body doesn’t bend under my control.
my body has a mind of its own; i only live in it.
i am often the path of least resistance, but i swear,
it ends in fireworks. the whistle-fizzle-bang! of it all.
the time at the fillmore when the lesbian couple in front of us offered
to take pictures and then a video but couldn’t figure out my camera—
i mean i am a body of confusion. my heart is a dry mouth and a thick tongue holding back.
i digress… when i say they couldn’t figure it out, i mean we couldn’t either,
but i’m talking about two different things now and i can’t bear to look
at the pictures. when i say i can’t bear to look i don’t mean i look away, but i do
squeeze my eyes shut and there is something inside me breaking. i wouldn’t say i’m sensitive,
i would say i am highly susceptible to an overwhelming bout of emotion.
no words, but a spinning rush and a violent outpour that i can’t always turn off.
the first time you leave me (which is the second time i try to leave you)
i rewatch uptown girls until i feel every emotion swirl down the drain.
i want to keep the coney island teacups scene on repeat so i can stare
at molly’s empty eyes, parted lips; ray’s manic-fear spinning out of control.
but it doesn’t hold meaning the same without the build-up, so instead
i watch the movie start to finish over and over and over again, waiting
to get back to that climax of dread. there is no emotion purer than guilt.
when i say purer i mean heavier and when i say guilt i mean abandonment.
it’s all the same, isn’t it? the only difference is how we get there. which is to say:
i have held love, and i have held fear, and they weigh just about the same.
i can almost bring myself to say i don’t mind.
i've never felt like i had the answer;
love made me feel like i didn’t even know the question
and even if i were certain, i’d never raise my hand. even alone in the room,
i’d be afraid to get it wrong. what i mean is, have you ever felt the ache of your life
falling to pieces? those crumbling supports that once looked so strong?
what i mean is, your name is an involuntary flinch squeezing my heart
because i learned love like don’t hold back. if i called the first person
you said i love you to, could they tell me they felt it? can you feel this?
the last one was me and we both know how i feel; throat swollen shut,
keeping everything inside. what i mean is my kiss tastes like copper-raw
open-wound begging to be tongued. you’ll like it. it’ll make you feel
exposed. my first crush was on someone only baby-me can remember.
the depths of memory inviting me to dive in. if i were an animal, i’d be something feral,
backed into a corner. when i say feral, i mean sometimes my body forgets it needs me
to stay alive; unearths its weak spots and offers itself up. i am a cage
of my own creation. when i say my body, i mean botticelli brought to life.
my instincts are fatal. i spent an entire year bouncing between hospitals and did not die once.
what i mean is my lonely looks a lot like drinking when you cut it down to size. what i mean is
if i came to you, lonely as a liquor store attendant right before closing, offering pink champagne
and a bucket of ice, could you believe in magic? not fairies, not flying, i mean tale as old as time.
my body: enchanted slumber. my full-lipped smile has ways to tell anything but the truth: flight-followed-by-fawn response. do you ever lay alone in bed and listen to my heart beat?
i feel your heart everywhere. when i say your heart, what i mean is all of you.
your eyes on my ass as i walk in front of you, your arms around my waist as i beg
to be close to you, your long legs leaving me as i beg you silently to stay.
the only game i know how to play is bullshit.
i like my body best when i’m not worried who can see it. i mean
dancing. when i say dancing, i mean that slow sway in front of the mirror.
hips moving like a slinky crawling down stairs.
i mean my seed is stuck between the teeth of a nutcracker.
i am best prepared for the biggest catastrophe. anything resembling success scares me.
flight-followed-by-fawn response. my mother tells me i am loved. when she says i am loved,
she means i can learn how to trust. in my dreams, i am held, and there is no chance at falling.
i’ve been here before. i mean i recognize that moon. i know, our moon is the only moon,
but imagine we were like jupiter and had so many more. so, i say i need you. i need you
when i mean (good)bye.
after Sabrina Benaim
i’m climbing into my own skin, wrapping my body tight around me
a defense where there is none to be found. i could’ve said where none is needed,
but i won’t know that til later. when i say hello, i mean i need you. when i say i need you,
i mean my desperation indebts me to you. indebted to you from the start, we fall off-kilter.
i don’t mind. owing my joy to you gives the rush of a rollercoaster, that stomach-drop
pleasure-fear-anticipatory-fire. no, i don’t mind at all. when i catch sight
of the crooked curve of your lips, i figure you don’t mind much either.
your breath rushes out the same as mine, except you linger.
tell me about the tingle shivering through your whole body
once you finally stop spinning long enough to see me straight.
tell me then what it takes to control your own body—
tell it to move and it moves; tell it to stop and it stops.
but we never want it to stop, do we?
oh, me? i couldn’t stop even if i wanted to.
my body doesn’t bend under my control.
my body has a mind of its own; i only live in it.
i am often the path of least resistance, but i swear,
it ends in fireworks. the whistle-fizzle-bang! of it all.
the time at the fillmore when the lesbian couple in front of us offered
to take pictures and then a video but couldn’t figure out my camera—
i mean i am a body of confusion. my heart is a dry mouth and a thick tongue holding back.
i digress… when i say they couldn’t figure it out, i mean we couldn’t either,
but i’m talking about two different things now and i can’t bear to look
at the pictures. when i say i can’t bear to look i don’t mean i look away, but i do
squeeze my eyes shut and there is something inside me breaking. i wouldn’t say i’m sensitive,
i would say i am highly susceptible to an overwhelming bout of emotion.
no words, but a spinning rush and a violent outpour that i can’t always turn off.
the first time you leave me (which is the second time i try to leave you)
i rewatch uptown girls until i feel every emotion swirl down the drain.
i want to keep the coney island teacups scene on repeat so i can stare
at molly’s empty eyes, parted lips; ray’s manic-fear spinning out of control.
but it doesn’t hold meaning the same without the build-up, so instead
i watch the movie start to finish over and over and over again, waiting
to get back to that climax of dread. there is no emotion purer than guilt.
when i say purer i mean heavier and when i say guilt i mean abandonment.
it’s all the same, isn’t it? the only difference is how we get there. which is to say:
i have held love, and i have held fear, and they weigh just about the same.
i can almost bring myself to say i don’t mind.
i've never felt like i had the answer;
love made me feel like i didn’t even know the question
and even if i were certain, i’d never raise my hand. even alone in the room,
i’d be afraid to get it wrong. what i mean is, have you ever felt the ache of your life
falling to pieces? those crumbling supports that once looked so strong?
what i mean is, your name is an involuntary flinch squeezing my heart
because i learned love like don’t hold back. if i called the first person
you said i love you to, could they tell me they felt it? can you feel this?
the last one was me and we both know how i feel; throat swollen shut,
keeping everything inside. what i mean is my kiss tastes like copper-raw
open-wound begging to be tongued. you’ll like it. it’ll make you feel
exposed. my first crush was on someone only baby-me can remember.
the depths of memory inviting me to dive in. if i were an animal, i’d be something feral,
backed into a corner. when i say feral, i mean sometimes my body forgets it needs me
to stay alive; unearths its weak spots and offers itself up. i am a cage
of my own creation. when i say my body, i mean botticelli brought to life.
my instincts are fatal. i spent an entire year bouncing between hospitals and did not die once.
what i mean is my lonely looks a lot like drinking when you cut it down to size. what i mean is
if i came to you, lonely as a liquor store attendant right before closing, offering pink champagne
and a bucket of ice, could you believe in magic? not fairies, not flying, i mean tale as old as time.
my body: enchanted slumber. my full-lipped smile has ways to tell anything but the truth: flight-followed-by-fawn response. do you ever lay alone in bed and listen to my heart beat?
i feel your heart everywhere. when i say your heart, what i mean is all of you.
your eyes on my ass as i walk in front of you, your arms around my waist as i beg
to be close to you, your long legs leaving me as i beg you silently to stay.
the only game i know how to play is bullshit.
i like my body best when i’m not worried who can see it. i mean
dancing. when i say dancing, i mean that slow sway in front of the mirror.
hips moving like a slinky crawling down stairs.
i mean my seed is stuck between the teeth of a nutcracker.
i am best prepared for the biggest catastrophe. anything resembling success scares me.
flight-followed-by-fawn response. my mother tells me i am loved. when she says i am loved,
she means i can learn how to trust. in my dreams, i am held, and there is no chance at falling.
i’ve been here before. i mean i recognize that moon. i know, our moon is the only moon,
but imagine we were like jupiter and had so many more. so, i say i need you. i need you
when i mean (good)bye.
BEE LB is an array of letters, bound to impulse; a writer creating delicate connections. they have called any number of places home; currently, a single yellow wall in Michigan. they have been published in Revolute Lit, After the Pause, and FEELS Zine, among others. they are the 2022 winner of the Bea Gonzalez Prize for Poetry. their portfolio can be found at twinbrights.carrd.co
