By Cailey Tin
i.
massage my shoulder blade / smell its soreness / dig in it with palm oils / hang lavender scents in the air / the scents, not the words / don’t let my neck snap from strain / listen to my story without the alphabet / translate every breath taken / between saplings of pauses / wait for the truth to emerge distorted / pretend this is a test / you’ll be quizzed on the details.
ii.
don’t offer a helping hand greased / with massage oils. / stay here / on the floor / sulk with / not at me. / sway to the rhythm of thunder / that cracks in my eardrums / shudder / as if you hear it too. / keep in your pints of questions / swallow them by gulps / save them for an ice cream picnic / make my frailty your newborn child when monsters / are mortifying / cry as if you see them too / look behind my eyes / sob the hell out of yours.
iii.
you will see me in a crown from decade / to age but going without a gap between / my grief strains my neck / support it with all means possible / protect the jugular vein with similar tenderness / when serving royalty. / don’t hearten me / to become my own warrior / don’t spit out excuses / when you should be mine / cradle my worries, baby my discomforts / they don’t dissipate so relish / in its realness / lick off the raw blood / as if on your tongue / and you taste it too.
Cailey Tin (she/her) is a southeast Asian-based staff writer and podcast co-host at The Incandescent Review, columnist at Paper Crane Journal, and Incognito Press. Her work has been published in Fairfield Scribes, Alien Magazine, Cathartic Lit, and more. When not writing, she can be found reading about the global economy or shamelessly watching cartoons on Netflix. You can find her on Instagram @itscaileynotkylie.
