i am (by Veronica McDonald)
i am meat
wrapped in baby doll plastic
laid down on the slab.
i name me “Jane”
paint bright red lipstick on my lips.
Don’t stop there.
Why be so predictable?
i draw the lipstick down
the curve of my chin
onto my chest
draw a large bleeding heart
between breasts that are too small
so i label them “MUSCLE.”
The plastic almost feels like skin
it bounces back under my fingers —
too perfect — so i scratch it
then cover the marks
in “Soft Honey” foundation.
i get bored
so i name me “Fred.”
i spell it “FREED” in bold black letters
stitched into my abdomen
with a broken needle.
i cut off my long brown hair and glue it
under my nose, like a mustache.
i leave the lipstick.
It makes Fred unique
a creature rarely seen.
i pierce his body
with transgressions;
a few earrings first
then a tongue cheek nipple throat-ring.
The beauty and uniqueness are almost
complete.
He looks feminine —
whatever that means —
so i name him “Jane.”
i give her red contacts
to match the lips under her mustache
bleach what’s left of her hair
until the smell burns
and the hair has lost all
naturalness —
whatever that means.
This is my body
it was made in my image
it reflects
nothing
deeper than existence
it is my birthright
my machine.
The meat inside begins to rot
the juice leaks from somewhere
onto the slab.
i polish the skin
spray it with $500 perfume
maybe it’s Chanel
maybe it’s made from the sweat
of starving children—
i don’t care.
Eat drink for tomorrow we die.
i’m so beautiful i could cry.
so i do.
brown-red tears pour down my cheeks
and i can hardly smell it
anymore
Photo credit: “Smarra” by Tony Johannot (Public Domain)
Veronica McDonald 