Rex Tee

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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.

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