II. DOES YOUR HEAD YOUR HATE YOUR BODY
A question (for me)- does your head hate your body? Or a list- your head, your hate, your body. We don’t recognize dichotomies, so let’s say it’s both. But while we’re in the business of both, let’s say it’s a dichotomy and it isn’t one. Does your head hate your body? If you are at all susceptible to the messages sent to you from everywhere, of course. Your head, your hate, your body. Your hate is a part of you as tangible and essential to your being as your head and your body. You can part from your hate as easily as you can decapitate yourself. What a gruesome thought. In the business of both, is your hate of your own body essential to who you are? Of course not.. But there are those who would have it that way.
III. WHICH OF OUR ORGANS ARE THE MOST SIMILAR
You’re obsessed with the few organs we have that are different so that you can’t see all the rest is the same.
V. IN THE AGE OF THE INTERNET WHO SHOULD I LOVE
Swipe swipe swipe swipe always something better. Clicking clacking not texting backing.
VI. WHAT IS IT TO HAVE FALLEN IN TO MULTIPLE PIECES AND HAVE THOSE PIECES SKITTLED
In to. Into. In to. The space creates a deliberateness.
How dare you coat the fragments of my sanity in colorful, consumable sugar? Do not market me. Do not try to make my suffering palatable. Allow it the dignity of its rancidness. If I fall into pieces it’s not cute and there’s no rainbow.
XVI. IF WE TOUCH, LET ME BE THE TALLEST CREATURE
Where punctuation is a precious a comma says a pause says a silence lasts a lifetime. I will let you in but not so much that there’s no more room for myself. To maintain my deSkittled sanity I must always be more than the you I allow you to occupy space in me. Power to she who cares the least let me be tallest in that way HAHA who are we kidding if not caring makes you big then I’m microscopic just let me touch you always.
In trying to fill out Jennifer Tamayo’s poem by creating content for what I interpreted to be section headings, I made it my own. I picked headings that resonated with me because they said something I could relate to and then wrote what I know.
After doing this, I read it again and the whole thing clicked together in a different way. When I had read it before, on my own and in class, I thought of all the lines as separate, fragmental thoughts. At times she was talking about sex, and at times her father. These seemed to occupy completely separate, non-overlapping spheres in my reading, even though line XIX is “DO NOT INTRODUCE THE OEDIPAL HERE.” The topic is so uncomfortable for me that I refused to accept it in my reading.
When I set out to create my own poem from some of her headings, I originally was trying to capture what I interpreted the essence of her poem to be. But by selecting only the headings that I related to and omitting any that mentioned fathers, I gave my own poem an entirely different meaning from the one I now interpret from Tamayo’s. This makes sense. I can write analytically about others’ experience, writing poetry about something I have not lived seems far more difficult.
I have never attempted a creative response before. I am pleasantly surprised that it helped me engage with the existing text in a different way. Perhaps it is something I will try more frequently.