Space Dust my Shoulders off
Kayleigh Spicer
What do you want to know?
Who I am?
Or who I was?
How about I start with the juicy bits.
How on occasion I enjoy being choked
by my words.
How I am easy
to talk to.
How I’d like to take you to my bed
and make sure you get a good night’s sleep.
How I don’t want to be sexualized.
How I’m not so innocent either.
Let me ask,
how do you like to see me?
I plan to workout,
to eat better,
to drink less.
But do you really expect me to keep promises I’ve made myself last week?
I’m buoyant and bright.
I’m a garbage human being.
I beg you to keep up with my personalities.
I have more than Walt Whitman,
if you haven’t already seen.
I won’t say anything more.
Nope.
I will not say another word.
Except, I will say this.
They say my eyes are shaped like almonds.
I say you should see my pussy’s!
She’s a lovely little feline.
Keeps herself real clean.
They say, “The only way is up!”
But what if I prefer the ground?
They say, “We heard you get around.”
It’s true.
I’ve kissed many frogs
only to find out they were all snakes.
I’ve never kissed a cat,
but I’ve kissed a pack of dogs.
I’ve come close to kissing a sparrow.
I pursed my lips, but he flew away.
They say we are interconnected.
So that means
I’ve kissed you, too.
Up until you were stiff and blue.
Right now, I enjoy kissing the moon.
praying his feelings towards me are never jaded.
An intergalactic romance.
Our lips meet.
An entire galaxy— extricated.
Particles descend.
Space dust settles on my shoulders
only for me to swipe it off
because I do that sometimes.
I reject being one with everyone,
every thing.
They say I’m selfish.
I say I’ll worry about it later.
They tell me I move with the wind
because I am the grass.
So if I put it in my pipe and smoke it
is that a double homicide?
Preying on a voiceless being.
Is my crime just as violent
as a man serving time?
Maybe this is what they mean by interconnected,
if you die
I die a little, too.
But if I die
I live through you.
I won’t say anything more.
Nope.
I will not say another word.
But I will say this.
I only hear rumors about who I was.
Dumb.
Blonde.
Both combined!
Terrible posture.
Messy!
Submissive.
Annoying.
Funny.
Clingy.
White girl.
Wouldn’t shut up about my feminist bullshit.
But let me explain!
I was being disrespected.
Disrespected!
Vulnerable.
Easy going
with a side of hormonal rage.
No amount of sage
could cleanse my soul
because I’ve seen dark places.
Darker than the half-moons under my swollen eyes.
On occasion,
I am who I was because
who I was is who I am.
But I am content with who I am.
Not so much with who I was.
And on occasion
I am who you are
because who you are is who I am.
But I am not content with who you are
because I am not content with myself.
I contradict myself.
I know this to be true.
I also know that when I kiss the moon,
I am kissing you, you, and you.
Feel free to pass your judgement.
Call me loose!
But if I am loose?
Well, that makes two
of us.
I’ve told myself it’s ok to reject certain parts of the universe.
But I space dust my shoulders off
and suddenly I’m in a mood.
I promise,
I’ll say no more.
Accept this.
Who I am?
Or who I was?
How about I start with the juicy bits.
How on occasion I enjoy being choked
by my words.
How I am easy
to talk to.
How I’d like to take you to my bed
and make sure you get a good night’s sleep.
How I don’t want to be sexualized.
How I’m not so innocent either.
Let me ask,
how do you like to see me?
I plan to workout,
to eat better,
to drink less.
But do you really expect me to keep promises I’ve made myself last week?
I’m buoyant and bright.
I’m a garbage human being.
I beg you to keep up with my personalities.
I have more than Walt Whitman,
if you haven’t already seen.
I won’t say anything more.
Nope.
I will not say another word.
Except, I will say this.
They say my eyes are shaped like almonds.
I say you should see my pussy’s!
She’s a lovely little feline.
Keeps herself real clean.
They say, “The only way is up!”
But what if I prefer the ground?
They say, “We heard you get around.”
It’s true.
I’ve kissed many frogs
only to find out they were all snakes.
I’ve never kissed a cat,
but I’ve kissed a pack of dogs.
I’ve come close to kissing a sparrow.
I pursed my lips, but he flew away.
They say we are interconnected.
So that means
I’ve kissed you, too.
Up until you were stiff and blue.
Right now, I enjoy kissing the moon.
praying his feelings towards me are never jaded.
An intergalactic romance.
Our lips meet.
An entire galaxy— extricated.
Particles descend.
Space dust settles on my shoulders
only for me to swipe it off
because I do that sometimes.
I reject being one with everyone,
every thing.
They say I’m selfish.
I say I’ll worry about it later.
They tell me I move with the wind
because I am the grass.
So if I put it in my pipe and smoke it
is that a double homicide?
Preying on a voiceless being.
Is my crime just as violent
as a man serving time?
Maybe this is what they mean by interconnected,
if you die
I die a little, too.
But if I die
I live through you.
I won’t say anything more.
Nope.
I will not say another word.
But I will say this.
I only hear rumors about who I was.
Dumb.
Blonde.
Both combined!
Terrible posture.
Messy!
Submissive.
Annoying.
Funny.
Clingy.
White girl.
Wouldn’t shut up about my feminist bullshit.
But let me explain!
I was being disrespected.
Disrespected!
Vulnerable.
Easy going
with a side of hormonal rage.
No amount of sage
could cleanse my soul
because I’ve seen dark places.
Darker than the half-moons under my swollen eyes.
On occasion,
I am who I was because
who I was is who I am.
But I am content with who I am.
Not so much with who I was.
And on occasion
I am who you are
because who you are is who I am.
But I am not content with who you are
because I am not content with myself.
I contradict myself.
I know this to be true.
I also know that when I kiss the moon,
I am kissing you, you, and you.
Feel free to pass your judgement.
Call me loose!
But if I am loose?
Well, that makes two
of us.
I’ve told myself it’s ok to reject certain parts of the universe.
But I space dust my shoulders off
and suddenly I’m in a mood.
I promise,
I’ll say no more.
Accept this.
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Kayleigh Spicer is a current student at PCC. She says: "I am working towards transferring to CSU Long Beach where I plan to pursue a major in Creative Writing. This piece is an interruption of (and inspired by) Walt Whitman's Song of Myself."
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