Beautiful Black Flowers (Spoken Word)

Hi. I wanted to thank those wonderful people who have commented on my stuff. I want to take more time to respond and be more active on DUP, because it always made me happy to do so. I thought I'd try a spoken word tonight. Just went with the last piece I wrote. My voice is still strange from the mold in my house lol. I'm getting my water turned on tomorrow and I'm so excited. Thanks so much.

Beautiful Black Flowers

Every house on my street is neat 
And green and trim and linear like 
Something out of a Tim Burton or 
John Hughes film. 
I imagine the grass in my yard, 
Which is dry and yellow and overgrown, 
To be opening its million tiny mouths, 
Thirsty. Water, please. Help. Please. 
I am female. This morning I am ripe, 
I smell of blood and longing and 
Womanly things. I burn and melt 
In adoration. Surely everything I 
Touch on my destination within 
This little quiet house must be 
Scorched. There must be a million 
Tiny black marks of my strange 
Consciousness everywhere. 
My mother's ashes lie beneath my 
Brother's bathroom sink. Today I 
Ache to sift my hands through them. 
Mommy. I have questions. 
Do you have answers. 
I feel like a mother doting on 
Children who secretly despise her 
And can't wait to leave the house. 
My heart races in my chest. I hear 
A thousand times a day, 
Help me. Mommy. Help. Me. 
Last night I dreamed I had a 
Thousand sons. They were somehow 
All immigrants, taking a boat to 
America, to begin a new life. I stood 
On the pier, waving, I wanted to 
Speak but my voice wouldn't emerge.
Don't forget me, I cried out in my 
Head, don't forget me, because 
I loved you. Their heads were already
Turned away, something new and 
Exciting awaited them. Now
Beautiful black flowers of mold 
Blossom on the walls. There is 
Always a taste in my mouth, 
Something that lingers. I wonder 
If little things have taken root inside 
My brain, and slowly, softly fester. 
I smell of things right and not quite 
Right. Perfume from yesterday, and 
That strange metallic scent of 
Woman. It jars and snags the air. 
It's a fecund smell, it's rich in something 
Fertile and lush and full. 
But it's stale, its purpose is finished. 
Every month something 
Leaves my body that could have 
Been human. For some reason 
Things are glitched. There are 
Skips and bumps in nature. Nothing 
Human will ever come from me 
Again. 
I will begin to move now. It is 
Automatic, autonomic, it churns 
And clanks into gear without 
Thought or much programming. 
I think I can hear the grass today. 
It's so thirsty. Please, it screams, 
And all the voices from a million 
Tiny mouths are cracked and 
Parched. 
A million tiny answering mouths inside me 
Are opening like horrible flowers, 
And trying to find their voice. 
I'm so thirsty, they cry. 
Please help. Answers. 
Answers.