Cristina Hawke

God, my head hurts My inflamed pus brain Folded over like a chef’s hat Tried to solve an impossible puzzle Imagine that Burnt through circuits Popped logic modules Flooded control rooms It hurts No more It’s hurts Think I wrote a hundred thousand words For her Just to hear her ask Again, again, again She told me once, “Just ask people questions. People love to talk about themselves.” I broke my brain Against a people pleasing strategy. It’s one thing to repeat myself, But another to wonder “How can she not know, yet? How can she not yet understand?”   It is a joy to toil effectively What’s better than truly tiring yourself out And seeing your effort received Seeing it do something good for someone Just seeing it work Knowing you are effective Knowing you can I thrive on that kind of loop I can rest knowing I did something And be ready to do it again Seeing her laugh I’ll generate a million jokes Seeing her feel safe I’ll hold her until my arms go numb Seeing her falling apart I’ll ...

Mama, I got half a ping pong ball on my forehead —don’t you try to touch it— Can we put half a baseball over top of it instead? At least until it’s half a walnut?   Gosh it’ll be really nice when it’s half a pea-- Can you imagine that? What a relief that will be! And then someday finally It’ll be half of nothing At least a girl can dream   Only reason I have half a chance Is cause I blocked her out So she can’t ask me one more question Or give me one more half answer She can’t promise me something And then leave out the half Where she follows through She can’t do the first half of my Carefully crafted empathy exercise About her point of view And skip the second half that was supposed to be about mine She can’t claim to be trying Haha I don’t have to hear one more excuse Not one more Not another half ounce of fluid Into the lump on my forehead I’m surprised it’s not half a grapefruit by now I’m surprised I didn’t birth a new planet From how fast my head was spinning And it coul...

hello I can feel you in there you're a racetrack shaped like a capital O you're a U-pipe connected to another U-pipe you're a plate spinning around and around you're a DJ's vinyl record scratch you're a front door that takes me to the back door you're a circular hallway the world's tiniest maze you're a gear with gum in the nooks you're a TV show rewinding against same 2 seconds you're a key in the ignition revving the engine you're my hands over my ears you're van gogh's scream you're me trying to run in a dream you're a sawblade roaring under water you're a giant gently pulling back on my jumper you're a wall made of glass blocks you're a soapy windshield you’re a buzzer that goes off when I open my eyes you're the lights keeping me awake at night you're the hammer that threatens you’re wire on my jaw you lock everything in place so it can't move at all I can't stand up I can't look out of...