I Hate Elisabeth Horan
I hate Elisabeth Horan. She is a weak, sad woman. She is so bad, she yells at her kids. She ate her own heart. She is a busybody and short. She is fat. She has no sex. Dry, dysmorphic 42; bitchy, neurotic. Thinks the world is out to get her. Guess what – it’s not all about you, I told her.
Have you had to deal with her? Selfish, I think. Always talking about herself. Why do some people think the world revolves around them. What has she ever done so great? Write poems, have kids? Please woman. Get a grip. Try my life on for a change – then you’ll know what it is like to be a busy mom.
I hate myself. I am a weak, sad woman. I am so bad, I yelled at my kids last night. I was eating my own heart – fed it out as bloody rags for dinner, I’m so sorry sweet ones. I am so nervous I talk too much trying to seem cheerful. But it comes out bizarre and makes other people nervous.
I am short, disgusting, and fat. “Small Troll” was my high school nickname. I haven’t had sex since my children came; I am too ashamed to use my vagina for fun. It had a job to do, now its done. I am on the slope of menopause, anyway. I feel 95 – God should probably end my life.
I’ve done such wrong – my sanity is gone. I am a bad mom.
I am in my head, my head, spinning planets, colliding particles, rumination monkey brain, anger rage, then again – the shame. I revolve around a dying sun. These frantic desperate words which editors like – the only thing I claim. My children, small creatures of my body’s pain. All I’ve done. All I love.
Please, other women in this town, don’t hate me, I am just a bug, flipped over, stepped on. Grip my hand – pull. Try on my life for a change – then you’ll know what it is like to be hated, and deranged.
I Hate James Diaz
I hate James Diaz. He’s too fucking soft and sore, every thing he touches him, three rings to midnight, he’s eating lava and dripping maniacal sex twinge love me love me…no, turn it off, favorite song color sweetheart deal, no prom no price is right, no protector, he’s a beast but gentle how can that be, I hate how he fills his teeth with Dentek cement cuz secretly won’t the unloved tooth kill him, oh how bad he must want that, death by open root, stinky cavity it’s your mother hole, primordial wound, heart hurts, races, sad sack, they want you to shut up why won’t you shut shut shut up.
I hate my face, voice, skin, hair, cock, eyes, voice, girly little boy blue, hit a fuckin guy already, down a bottle, bar hop, pick up your socks, kill kiss whatever, you need so much affirmation all the time and only you can give it and that fucking tooth is aching again, cut more cement, roll it in your fingers and pack it in, your mother tongue your failure your scar scar scar, you are too old for second chances you’re too dark and darker a darkness in him that boy they all think you a shooting star, sweetheart, you’re a killer, and too much needs fixing to ever be fixed too much needs root canal real capping the void under your tongue the blue blue…
mother broke the bone, now look at you keeping it that way… that tooth… pain… that heart darkness… heavy, falling… hard
Elisabeth Horan is a poet mother student lover of kind people and animals, homesteading in Vermont with her tolerant partner and two young sons. Elisabeth’s poetry aspires to give a voice to Mother Earth and all her creatures, as well those tender humans who may be suffering alone and in pain. Elisabeth is inches away from her MFA and teaches at River Valley Community College. Find her on her website (firstname.lastname@example.org) or on Twitter @ehoranpoet.
James Diaz is the founding editor of the literary arts & music journal Anti-Heroin Chic. His work has appeared most recently in HIV Here & Now, Foliate Oak, Chronogram, Quail Bell Magazine, and Apricity. His first book of poems, This Someone I Call Stranger, is forthcoming from Indolent Books (2018.)