Photo by Eric Sorensen


by Tessa Adams

Altered Ego

Like egg white
it sits, glaring
and professing
common truths
“Isn’t it nice?” They say.
Isn’t it just right?” They say.
And you smile because
it is long built
and fits over
the vulnerable
places. Encasing
ashes. Embracing
unsavory desires.
Fingers run
like wild adventurers
over its edgelessness
searching for
something sharp.
Aching to feel
a prick. A flick.
And just over the
silence, the buzz begins.
The restless sound
that comes from
the fertile soft parts.
It’s there.
The pulsing
The intoxication.
So animal-like
A crescendo of
adrenaline cries
out but too late
And for what?
It’s encased in
It’s desert dry
And those new
and old promises
burn out to the quiet
The nice.
The expected.
After all,
it’s long built.
A revolution is
no match for its walls.
And they continue
suffocating what
begs to be unsettled.