Alyssa Curcio

It’s funny and kind of famous
to be uninvited from 
your close friend’s wedding.
I should know, seeing as how
the minute-long bubbles of 
my unsolicited online thoughts
(of my body politick, perhaps)
wounded the feelings of 
the soap-soft groom
deeply enough that he could not 
enjoy his Big Day knowing I was 
lurking somewhere
in the pews. 

If God gave me this 
mouth,
why shouldn’t I use it!

Over breakfast, I told my dad 
he needed to start 
seeing the State for what it is: 
a godless warmonger hungry for flesh. 
Even the freshly baked muffins
didn’t help that one go over any easier.
(quelle surprise!)
We’re finally speaking again, 
crystalline cracking
delicately over 
newly-formed ground.

If my father gave me this 
mouth, 
why shouldn’t I use it!

September brought a severing, 
my lover cutting me 
down at the knees
because I tried to pry open 
the closed fist of her heart 
with my lips 
(my so-called perfect lips).
Too much talk, 
not enough tongue, 
I guess. 

If God gave me this perfect
mouth, 
then why shouldn’t I use it!

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