The Truth Is by Leila Peleg

Leila is a theatrical and extroverted individual with a love for poetry, so she thought: “hey, maybe I should try writing my own!” Leila has been published in magazines such as Spark to Flame, The Afterpast Review, and Women In Art & Literature. More poetry from The Feedsack is here.

The Truth Is

My body itches when BEES fly around my head
On the papers that I read;
My skin flakes off onto the place in which I fret
Rubbing till I turn red
Honey drips onto the arm in which I sweat
Which burns till I see bone, with no regeneration

Unless I lick it; but then I’ll form a hole in my heart
Okay…I guess I will

My standards are at the bottom of the well
too heavy to pull up…but I’ll try
—I’m afraid I’ll drop it (I think, but I don’t speak)

I am spoiled with compliments
Praise has led to discomposure
For when it crumbles, so do my cells
So does my skin

And the SEA produces currents that my body can’t block
With no way to swim out unless I get put in a bottle
And I become nothing but a message
Nothing but the SEA itself—

Why, I turned the screw left!
I didn’t mean to do that
The rope is now imprinted on my hands
And no matter how tight I’m holding; and how little I loosened the bolt:
It slips till it almost hits the bottom

It’s okay, (I say out loud this time)
Maybe that will help

But the DEstroying acid falls upon my feet
I see holes start to form; but I’ll keep walking
Even though I have no umbrella to protect me
And when the pedestrians see me, there is a hole on my forehead
Screaming DEtails
I strain to pull the bucket up—
a memory comes back to me

[I’m sitting in apple sauce
“What tips your bucket?”
The red-headed lady asks
Her arm swaying like a pirate

Worms.
BIG ROLLERCOASTERS!!
Missing playtime]

Now it’s EFFiciency
Because
Who am I if not standardized
Who am I if not straining to achieve
Who am I if nobody recognizes me again
And I become
Nothing but a mere column to delete