NaPoWriMo Poem #19: Unravel

You think that I’m brave to tug at my own skin,
pull on the little ends of yarn that I see poking out:
little parades of frayed cotton trees in every color. I have
thousands of them, most of them congregating up and down
my spine. But the truth is,

I pull on them so that
you don’t.

Yes, I know how the temptation hums
inside your fingertips to grasp, to tug, to yank. How you’d
love to pull each snake out of her skin. Don’t think that
the lack of eye contact renders me blind. I have
corners that I watch you out of, and I see you
staring at my ends. How an eye would turn into a
finger, how intent tangles threads around itself. Your mind
is a wound bobbin, a collide and mess of strings
at its core, strings of every color. The halo of thread around
it is even knotted – curiosity swiveled and spun out,
the work of a drunken satyr who traded his flute for
a spinning wheel. Yes, I see you. The itch in your fingers
gives you away.

So I will do the work for you. I can control the
speed of the strings sliding out of my body. Do you
like what you see? Here’s my hair reaching
frizzy hands up to the sky with an Olympic-sized vengeance,
triggered by the invisible ocean inside the summer
air. Or I could show you my secret, rounded in the middle –
the flesh belly hills down which you could tumble,
if you cared to know what fat, diabetic woman
feels like. Or I could show you

the intangibles. Like your
verbal instructions, rearranged into hopeless jumble
like a junk yard caved in on itself – those reside
in the back of my head. Or my
clumsy, colliding and collapsing ankles that clank
skin and bone together, bringing this short, plump skyscraper
of a woman down. Feel the earthquakes. Or
best of all, I could show you Asperger’s at its worst:

a moment,
pulsing and throbbing in all its red, raw splendor,
morphing and crackling into fire flowers,
buried inside my perineum where my first chakra
should be. I call it a meltdown. Watch it
bloom. I could spit the contents out at you like
solar flares arcing their backs in swan dives. Yes,

this is me. I will keep pulling at the threads
so that you don’t touch me until
I beckon you over to handle and pull at
the ends. And when I do, you must pull gently:

for the question is not whether
I am brave enough to do it.

The real question is,
if you are brave enough to watch.

Written 4/21/10
© 2010 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
This poem is my nineteenth one written for NaPoWriMo 2010, and was for NaPoWriMo #21: Perfectly Flawed over at Read Write Poem. No explanations — I’d rather let this speak for itself.


P.S. Don’t forget that I have many more poems I’ve written this month — just a good majority of them are password protected (to prevent them from being considered “published”, since many are in draft form). If you would like to read them, please don’t hesitate to contact me — either via comment moderation or backchannel (nicole AT ravenswingpoetry DOT com).

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About ravenswingpoetry

I am a 38 year old writer from Columbus, OH and the creator of Raven's Wing Poetry. I am a poet, seeker, fellow traveler, and autistic.
This entry was posted in Asperger Poetry, NaPoWriMo 2010, Poems, Prompt Poems, Read Write Word Prompt Poem and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to NaPoWriMo Poem #19: Unravel

  1. Dan Rako says:

    Those little strings…

    Nice work.

  2. pamela says:

    This is superb! Your writing always captivates me.

  3. Pingback: Big Tent/WWP Poem #42: The Way Back Home « Raven's Wing Poetry

  4. Pingback: Poetry for Autistics Speaking Day « Woman With Asperger's

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