I surrender to her a snake
2 minute read
it wasn’t even the markings, nor the newfound jagged edges that decorated the pieces to my innocence, nor the green tint that replaced the blue within me. the oceans emptied and the grass grew greener. it was never the coils, the constricting and the hissing, the insatiability of a carnal desire i could never fulfill within her. it was never the flags i beat down, burned down, prayed to whatever deity, broke my bones bending my knees and pressed into dying soil, that i am right about girl fueled only by desire and by lust. that carnal desire could mean love of the purest form, that a forked tongue could gift me eternal serenity over eternal suffering, that the molten scales are clothes, that this is no snake and mouse game, a game of predation with a known outcome. i threw them into the back burner, hoped the embers of these flags i tossed into a forever raging element are silenced and cease to create a new flame within me, one that scares her away from me, who knows nothing of love but knows everything of a carnal desire. i feel it now, the drag of the forked tongue, the little poke from two pierced objects, a carnal desire that will be satiated, put to rest with a fragile neck and a willing heart. and as the fangs dig a little deeper, pull through my nerves a little more, bury holes and create crimson river bends that will never drought, as a lace of lead and lies pour into an innocence i could no longer protect, i finally see what has happened. she has hissed checkmate, constricted a body so fragile, every bone has broken to her will, i have done what no man would want to do for themselves in the eyes of a woman. i have bent my knees, shoved a whisper so far down, my answer has changed and branded itself on the back of my tongue, a muscle used for the wrong purposes and brought all the right euphoria. i have allowed a lace of lead and lies fill my bloodstream, replace all that was red with green, watch the crimson river bends die out to create a greener grass. felt the weakness in my bones, every break, every fracture, every minute creak. i surrender myself to her, a snake. she was no god of mine, but i bend the knee, whisper my forked tongue prayers in hopes that my sins can be repented from a snake of mine who has poisoned me.
Mya Sweeney is a sixteen-year-old nonfiction poet from Florida whose obsessions include color-coding and accidental arson.