Danez Smith Biography

O California, don't you know the sun is only a god
if you learn to starve for him? I'm bored with the ocean
...

the bullet is his whole life.
his mother named him & the bullet
...

this gin-heavy heaven, blessed ground to think gay & mean we.
bless the fake id & the bouncer who knew
this need to be needed, to belong, to know how
a man taste full on vodka & free of sin. i know not which god to pray to.
i look to christ, i look to every mouth on the dance floor, i order
a whiskey coke, name it the blood of my new savior. he is just.
he begs me to dance, to marvel men with the
dash
of hips i brought, he deems my mouth in some stranger's mouth necessary.
bless that man's mouth, the song we sway sloppy to, the beat, the bridge, the length
of his hand on my thigh & back & i know not which country i am of.
i want to live on his tongue, build a home of gospel & gayety
i want to raise a city behind his teeth for all boys of choirs & closets to refuge in.
i want my new god to look at the mecca i built him & call it damn good
or maybe i'm just tipsy & free for the first time, willing to worship anything i can taste.
...

wit h bee f a nd veg gi es
b less ed wi th an e gg
sa ff ro n sul li ed c hil lin
w ith g arl ic or d irty n ot qu ite
re d bu ggin the bea ns
or jus t ri ce, wat er th e mi ra cl e
of sa lt t he gr a in s pr omi se
to pil lo w an d st retc h
i u sed to ha te r i ce
hat ed it h ated h ow
br oke it sou nde d
rice rice rice a po cket
w ith thr ee co p per co ins
hu n ger s tamb our ine
i h ate d al l of it
h ated the w ate r
gh ostbl eac hed by sta rc h
hat ed th e p uff y mo on s
po ckin g my sto m a ch
lik e a si ck ne ss
end in g sic kn ess
hat ed ev eryth ing
th at i woul d mar ry no w
l eg it wo uld
i wo uld m arry wa ter
coul d it hav e me
wi tho ut de adi ng me
i d m arry the m oon
cha nge my n ame
to it s ho ur
i wou ld w ed t he y o lk
go ld r ice stu ck
in th e yo lk yell ow tee th
of m y hom e girls w ere it n ot
alr eady jew els
mini ng th eir lau ghs
bl in ge d ou t li ke a do w ry
shi nin
nex t to th e bi lls of m int
bov ine rib bons
co n fet t ied c ar rots
...

but there is no proof but proof
no mark but the good news

that there is no bad news yet. again.
i wish i knew the nausea, its thick yell

in the morning, the pregnant proof
that in you, life swells. i know

i'm not a mother, but i know what it is
to nurse a thing you want to kill

but can't. you learn to love it. yes.
i love my sweet virus. it is my proof

of life, my toxic angel, wasted utopia
what makes my blood my blood.

i understand belle now, how she could
love the beast. if you stare at fangs

long enough, even fangs pink
with your own blood look soft.

•

low-key, later, it felt like i got it
out the way, to finally know it

up close, see it in the mirror.
it doesn't feel good to say that.

it doesn't feel good to know
your need outweighed your fear.

i braved a stupid ocean. a man.
i waded in his stupid waters.

i took his stupid salt & let it
brine my skin, took his stupid

fish into my hands & bit into it
like a flapping plum. i kissed at

his stupid coral & stupid algae.
it was stupid. silly really. i knew nothing

that easy to get & good to feel
isn't also trying to eat you.

•

knew what could happen. needed
no snake. grew the fruit myself.

was the vine & the rain & the light.
the dirt was me. the hands drilling

into the dirt were my hands.
i made the blade that cut me down.

but i only knew how to live
when i knew how i'll die.

i want to live. think i mean it.
take the pill even on the days

i think i won't survive myself.
gave my body a shot. love myself

at least that much. thank you, me.
thank you, pill, seafoam & bland.

thank you, sick blood, my first husband
dead river bright with salmon.
...