IT (CHAPTER TWO)
- Apr 24
- 1 min read
By Italo Ferrante
“pierrot is akin to the immortals, if not of them.”
irene mawer
i was told not to lead with my teeth / but with my desperation / i wish
i could cudgel the shadows of my offenders away / i can only grant mock
damages & take pratfalls in the sand / all these men beg to use my throat
like a toilet brush / no / i can’t lube my chest / i won’t be their human wipe
/ god / shower me in greasepaint & hide all hickey bruises / lord / bring me
a razor i can handle like a stiletto knife / i have nothing more than
a constellation of clotted pimples / not much more than a pair of scar-
red lips & a monkey cage / i still wake up to my mum’s face
/ to her charcoal-burnt potato smile / to my dad’s freddo grin /
as he plays tag with mum at night / my parents don’t help me
pinch the necks of my balloons anymore / my mime-boyfriend
is waving ta-ra from the pogo bus / i fall backwards / trimmed /
tucked / tickle-tortured / i’m a parody of a woman / i’m a panto-
mime of a man / i’m the butt of every uncle’s joke
/ i’m only funny against my will