TRUTH'S {a}VERSION
by Hokis
To him
Her suicide note reads
Like a concentrated dose
Of all her victim issues
In one syringe
Little does he know
Her religion prohibits
Needles
To Truth
His suicide note reads
Like a concentrated dose
Of her redirected rage
In one syringe
Little does he know
She finds his track marks
Victorious
Amen
Confessions of a Former Cult Leader
Hokis {n., /hō/kēs/ Armenian for “my soul"} channels zir trauma-inoculated mistrust of humanity into poetry. Ze has worked as community organizer, teacher, and mindful body educator. Ze is Senior Editor of Headline Poetry, with recent work in For Women Who Roar, Truly U, and Cloud Women's Quarterly.
by Hokis
As you rush towards
my hijacked ambulance -
the karambit steady,
resting to the side of my birthing, soldier hip.
Your momentum,
not mine,
disembowels you
to expose
the cancer
that never existed
inside the you that you aren’t.
It’s not your fault:
You weren’t privileged with,
though you probably should have asked,
my safe word:
Manson.
Because
by Hokis
Because I like the feel of dopamine's hand as it leads me to the apple’d tree.
Because I have a God complex, believing the only person to help is me.
Because I was told your name one mournful day, long before.
Because I made a promise to settle a sister’s score.
Because I am angry and want someone to pay.
Because I saw it would be easy that very first day.
Because I remember her when she was little, and you when she was dead.
Because I am the secret keeper, and you were her dread.
Because the obvious solution is a federal crime.
Because I made a promise to meet her need without doing time.
Because there is something romantic, almost poetic, about running someone out of town.
Because it is ironic to spew familiar rhetoric to the self-identified king, who truly is a clown.
Because, as expected, your eyes were on the wrong ball.
I know this,
because I am a woman and this is how men, great or not, always do fall.