five poems
by Thomas Jackson
fairweather // ecdysis
Saurian self-tanned skin
Shed, shed peeling scraps
Stacked skin heaps on an
Unmade mattress while
Misting scales squeaking
Spray bottles of Florida
Water steeped bog moss
Anything to bring some
Magic back to spice up a
Limp web and burn time
They all fled when I quit
Painting to fill the seams
In my face while placing
Colored contacts over
Vertical reptile eyes not
A witness in sight nor a
Vocal contrarian in my
Deck I’ve got no guard
Rail on tight mountain
Side switchbacks just
A forked tongue dead
Mice or fungus gnats
For afternoon snacks
hypomaniyuh
ethical ataxia
internal mad honey
spitball investments
acquire, acquire
don’t tell Dad
money had
yet not had
dollar games
tapping blaze
burn burn burn
swiping fiend
masturbation
to the prospect
of touch riled
up, burn burn
drive an hour
for a date with
an army bro
leave midway
blinked through
shared stories of
Big Gun mutilation
with new Fayetteville
military friends
block on everything
while driving back
blink blink burn burn
good good chemicals
swirl berry cream brain
call an ugly over
rugburn from pulled collar
red rough textile sting
turn on, bent knee stint
fingers in mouth
push the cat away kick him
out as he’s catching breath
clip the beat
burn burn burn burn burn
Adipositivity
I prefer you wear the light heart, a ruby
Necklace bound in rich unctuous golden
Syllables spun to help the wounds close.
Desirability compromised by 60 gained
when I see other people heavier than me
I see beauty yet these weight counts read
like angel number nuclear codes. Slather
superconfidence on slick, caustic plaster
drug carb cravings. Quetiapine didn’t quiet
much of anything. Quit shushing me I get
you want me to looove my body but shuut
the hell up. Muffin topping out my skinny
jeans all to hear it’s baggy that’s in. Man,
fuck this body. Fuck this skin. Your constant
mocking presence is too obtuse for me to drift
On by. If I utter the term rotund tonight is the
Night I die. This abject hatred has no end in
sight. Purple lines ruin my once-sexy thighs
I think of the care ritual as I scrape a bowl
Of plain white rice followed by a blank
Canvas carton of dark chocolate ice
Cream as it’s good for the brain it’s
All for the brain elevator eyes are
A way we keep those slim muscles
Taut, trained and
Lean
Ketchup allergy
lacrosse bro kept throwing trash at me and the girls’ table
swiped a ketchup packet he’d eaten across his thigh he
flipped his lid pointed at a random bruise on the other
leg said his tomato allergy made it loudly proclaimed I
wiped my “period jizz” from my vagina on his limb I
said listen you failed abortion if you come here again
you’ll be sorry and he left us alone, some of my friends
cried at the sheer profanity of the scene, me and my
Alvin and The Chipmunks high-pitched voice, always
called “ma’am” over the phone, asked to put on the real
Thomas when he’s been speaking the whole damn time
midsummer prodrome
he’s in the driver side backseat watching me
slide in pulling a wire against my windpipe
as it crunches a wet spot forms in his lap
smacking my hands against the wheel
breaking my pinky he busts as i pass
caught in a storm can’t break its path
strike set
his pistol in my face, walking backwards
staring in his eyes as he licks his lips fires
a .45 in my right hip i’m heading toward
a wall he puts one more in my chest blood
spurts out like boiling marinara lungs leak
turning to two pierced balloons i fall back
strike set
sex cult’s got me in its grip feasting, my
insides jack o’ lantern guts on halloween
tearing out entrails, kidneys, spleen, weak
feel the absence of each organ they chew
then spit back in the cavity where life
should be i wake as a they sew me shut
strike set
3 am
migraine
Picture of Thomas Jackson
BIO: Thomas Jackson is a disabled queer poet from Raleigh, North Carolina living with Bipolar Disorder. He is a published TEDx Speaker, landscape designer, self-published author, amputee, and suicide prevention leader. Instagram: jtommyj Twitter: tommybbyboy