by Danny Merlino
Danny Merlino is a 15-year-old poet whose work focuses mainly on the surreal side of emotions, using grotesque imagery in many of her pieces. She has been published in multiple zines, and in Just Buffalo Literary Center’s Wordplay.
one hundred thousand billion
relieving your soul from my heart,
the shopping cart of my lungs is
piercing its metal through the lining.
an entrapment of bars made out of
your irises blink, painting my eyelashes
with the color of rust that’s under
your broken fingernails.
your mug spills and shatters,
the water leaving a puddle of ink
i never asked for.
you bring me closer to home with
but for some reason i can’t see the oxygen
in the air anymore.
i live in a bubble of my own skin
but somehow you’ve dug your way inside.
why am i a poet that can't form words?
an ugly monster that i cover in kisses
a sea serpent with her tail wrapped around my neck
it should hurt the nerves in my esophagus,
the needles in my organs
but i somehow enjoy it
i break my feathers as i force myself
into a bottle
my heart condensing into my head
replacing my brain
i’m shopping for a version of myself i can’t even buy
while people congratulate the calluses
on my hands
i scream at the calluses on my heart.