Rex Tee
Rex is a poet and violist based in Taipei, Taiwan. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Eunoia Review, The Inflectionist Review, The Fahmidan Journal, and elsewhere. When not writing, he can be found chewing on Swedish Fish or whisking up matcha.
The New Ear
As a child, I believed I could make anything out
of myself. I practice debate 7 days a week, until
my lips split at the corners, raw like torn
paper seals. Balm smeared across them,
I scrub the skin off continuously, piling ceiling
high like little dead pieces.
Once I have enough, I knead the
skin like dough into a new toe, or finger. When
I am done speaking, Ma takes my mouth &
hangs it between me and the version of me I
try for, she keeps on brushing me into the
trash, shortening me. She licks her
lips while I speak, sets a 4 minute timer.
When my lungs are granted their wish of
time, words turn to grit before they hit teeth.
So I am speaking,
speaking, speaking, until I have enough skin, for
new hands, feet, & ears that won’t hear the sweep,
sweep, sweep
of what she asks for, & what I
cannot give.