By Dody James

I strip my skin and fat from my body
and nail it to your wall like a tapestry.
We are watching the blood pool underneath it
when you say “that’s so poetic.”
So I shrug my muscle tissue off
and drape them over your windows like silk curtains.
We are watching the maggots squirm
when you say “that’s so poetic.”
So I undo my guts and lungs
and string them up like fairy lights.
We are watching my heartbeat in the palm of your hand
when you say “that’s so poetic.”
So I disassemble my skeleton
and screw my bones back together like Ikea furniture.
You are falling asleep in the crook of my spine
when you say “this is so poetic.”
But you are disgusted.
And this room is disgusting– 
an accumulation of the most vulnerable parts of me.
Come to think of it, I am disgusting.
I am a tapestry and silk– fairy lights and Ikea furniture.
Look around. Where is this poetry you seem so desperate to find?