CAMILLE FERGUSON
CW – depression/mental illness
I can’t explain it, but in an attempt to feel, I started swallowing knives
& instead of creating spectacle they’ve settled down
& built a home in me. they’ve drawn the lines
to a town. they don’t have to paint it
red. in my gut, I know they’re making the same human
mistakes. they’ve read them in my blood.
I feel red-tape & redlining. cold hard man
swords wearing red hats. they’re making the gut great
again. but, also, the sounds of sword-girls singing
along to Red (Taylor’s Version). & all this
inside of me. & I can’t explain it, the way
most of the time I can’t help
but feel like we are capable of more
bad than good. that the same story told
a thousand times would have the same end.
& that I’m afraid I’ll never feel again, or never feel good.
or feel so bad it feels almost good. that I’m aching
for a better performance. & impermanence. an improv.
that I’m always waiting for silver
to come glinting its way between my teeth, making an exit,
making my body more than a wound.
Camille Ferguson is a queer poet from Ohio. Their work has been published in Flypaper Lit, Zone 3, Passages North, and Door Is A Jar, among others. They have been nominated for a 2021 Best of the Net award and a 2022 Pushcart Prize. You can follow them on Twitter @camferg1.