They ask us how we do it
It referring to exactly what you think
What I thought of as beautiful, blooming
In the moment, private and unfazed by gaze
Wilts in response to the crudeness
That seeps out of cracked soil
We talk about our mothers
While referring to monsters
I say, and she nods
Or hint at our monsters
While referring to mothers
She says, and I laugh
Did you know that it can be fun?
To find someone who also laughs
At eternal, maternal misery
Which I carry around in tiny flasks
And pour into our drinks
To get her to say a few honest lines like
We are daughters, not war zones
And our bodies were not our own
Which I then sip, swallow, and succumb to
Because when the truth strikes a match
All our scars burn… beautiful… and blooming
Imagine dry, lustful branches that become a scorching,
entangled ring of firewood that repeatedly peaks
into the night sky from friction with every touch
Afterwards, we go back to talking about
Our mothers, which we refer to as monsters
Which explains our mutual fear of
explosive people, well-buried mines that
left holes in our bodies, in which more
monsters appear, lodging and playing
We seem to have so much in common,
From the basics – queer and female,
To foreigners who prefer the hopes of
Spring and only wear woody men’s cologne
To the shared reluctance on elaboration –
What do we mean by mothers and monsters?
We are opposites. She is a mathematician, carefully
Calculating how much to add on, giving me
A detail per day until it sums up to the word war, vague
I am a writer, the neurotic, reckless type, who is
tired of tiptoeing around metaphors so I respond
with a full story, filled with pains and who to blame
More importantly, she hides her monsters
Ignores them in an attempt to tame their aims
While I stare mine down and when they don’t
Surrender, I resort to screaming and shouting
And fighting and attacking them right back because I learn
by example and these monsters were also mothers and mentors
She pretends her mine-left holes do not exist while I refill my own
Just like how she always stripped me down, over and
Over before she uncovered any inch of herself
Which was well-hidden under a maze of cloth
And hair, around which she had to guide my hand
Helping fill my holes without acknowledging her own
We talk about mothers and monsters
Laugh at our stale pain that we then numb
With the taste of each other’s unsaid words
What we can’t explain turns us into
Monsters to each other, her emotionless and cold
Me, violent and scorching
They asked us how we do it
Out of crudeness and not curiosity
They say two wrongs don’t make a right
Just like two holes are puzzles pieces that don’t fit
It disgusts me, their smirk, but at least I have
Something to be angry at instead of her
Lesbian. I finally came out as lesbian. It only took me twenty years. When I finally fell for a girl for the first time, I felt everything I had began to suspect I was incapable of. It was freeing and exhilarating, yet the relationship was tainted by both of our past pains, some of which had to do with homophobia, some of which had not. I lost her as suddenly as I found her. So, I tried to blame our destruction on all the external factors because there's something about letting go of your first girl that brings out the most intoxicating desperation in you. The opening and closing stanzas of the poem insert the voices of males who fetishise lesbianism to critique this fetishisation, while the rest of the poem explores how trauma created love languages that stem from hurt, fear, and even shame. At the end of the day, this is a story about two people who grew up with terrible examples of how to love, one of whom is not coping very well with the mistakes that cost her what could have been.
Biography:
Jessica Shuran Yu is studying English and creative writing at Fordham University at Lincoln Centre, where she writes a column focusing on LGBTQ+ and feminist issues. When she's not stressing about her writing, she can be found spending way too much money on clothes or laughing at the most inappropriate times.
Instagram: @_jessicayu_
Cover Photo Source: Shonda Land
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