First, preheat heart as hot as you can stand

I must confess
I don’t have it in me to pretend anymore.

Used to think I could shave myself down,
peeled-potato smooth,
into someone they wouldn’t have to garbage-disposal blur
just to squint at.

I could cheese-grater squeeze my way into unremarkable,
hold my breath until I was kitchen-sink drowned-rat quiet.

Now I exist root-rough and steam-hazy.
I let them look past me,
let them love only the parts they don’t have to squint past,
come out the other side unshucked-corn closed.

I lemon-squeeze their expectations,
lime-zest my tongue.
Sweet-sugar my words,
sea-salt my fingertips.

And when you come along,
the way I know you will,
you’ll apple-core me,
fish-gut me,
stare me open-blinds full-sun in the face, unblinking,
flour-bleach my hair,
seed-scatter my desire.

Your egg-yolk pupils will stovetop-popcorn me open,
the mortifying ordeal of being
bread-knife sawed-apart
known.

You’ll be the bandaid waiting on the counter,
the dye creeping up the celery stalk,
and I’ll potato-sprout my way up to the light.

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Johanna is a poet from Charlottesville, VA who writes about/with/from/through queerness, religion, and disability. Find them at https://johannapoet.com.