3 Poems by Kelly Ann

The Wrong-Left Men

I told them who I am

at face value

behind the mask of anonymity

and they scoffed as they

disagreed

they refused to believe

in me and said, as if facts

just you wait

just you wait and you’ll see

you’ll be a bigger freak than me

once you ‘gasm for the first time

you’ll feel just how sublime

and you’ll be the biggest freak

under your coral colored sheets

or they whisper in their pixels

about how I haven’t met the right man

they could be the right man

I’m the right man

I’ll be your man

and prove you wrong

all night long

my lips would twist

into a sneer

hiding the fear

trying to appear

unphased

by their insincere

displaced

concerned

just you wait

he’ll prove you wrong

I’ll prove you wrong

just let me know when

and where

I’ll grab your hair

you’ll become putty in my hands

and you’ll thank me later

once you understand

how grand it is

to be with this man

no matter how many times

I say or browbeat them

away

they come back with the ferocity

only found in men

who desire a quickie

nothing more

nothing less

for it’s a chore

I guess

let me be your man

and I’ll set you straight

away from the grey

I’ll open the floodgates

with my fingers

and together we’ll create

something beautiful in you

it’s me

I’ll be the beautiful

in you

their words are blowfish stingers

and they whine into their liquor

as if injured

by rejection

and refused affection

since I won’t let them

add me to their collection

of erection holders

I told them who I am

at face value

and showed them the grey

that plays in my mind

on repeat

but they scoffed and

disagreed

and they promised 

they’d

fix me

His prayers aren’t answered and they get pizza in the end 

It was on a king sized bed

her head resting on his chest

watching a movie

while his thumb traced figure eights

between her soft knuckles

where her walls began to melt

under the heat of his protective

obsessive

gaze

He reached his hand through

the pliable concrete

and took a firm grasp of her fingers

in order to dislocate her shoulder

and pull her closer to his heart

Every word was a jackhammer

lined with sandpaper

and they wore her down

but she didn’t mind

as his maple sap words

were sweet in her ears

after they’d once been accustomed to

accosting

It was on a king sized bed

her hair pinned between his t shirt

and the faded black hoodie

with peeling red letters

she wore as a safety blanket

where he braided their fingers together

and brought her palm to rest

on the hardened hem of his gym shorts

one eyebrow reaching skyward

praying to the heavens that she

gives in to the temptation

She tried to say no and yet

her tongue turned into the Sahara

words failed to form

so she just recoiled

an armadillo in slow mo

as her walls froze under his touch

rebar installed

between the peeling twine

of looped fingers

He groaned in annoyance

cutting the movie short

deciding he was hungry

and they left for pizza

where she left her wall behind

bricking and boarding the doorframe

that led to the king sized bed

When I Wish I Was A Knot*

They’re:

vintage spools;

discarded twine;

a rat king’s crown;

thrift store necklaces;

cloud-hugging contrails;

tossed around paperclips;

hand-me-down Christmas lights;

calcified remains of a prehistoric mother;

prematurely torn hair in a dollar store scrunchie;

*originally published with The Word’s Faire