Poetry By Keleah Pinto
By Keleah Pinto
Two breasts with two nipples
A navel, two lungs
Two legs, two lips—
both separated by a single tongue.
Sexless erections fall limp on hard skin—
under the skin still flesh, blood and ink.
Inscribed inside, the prescriptions of pleasure,
block pain and minimize pressure.
Missing one essential key
not a “T” but a “Y;”
Who needs a man, anyhow?
They steal your Soul and keep it in a locket strung across their Heart.
Adam came before Eve in the Secret Garden of Life
Given a token of Love for the creation of his
key ingredient more like it.
Ingredients for life, or ingredients for destruction?
In your case it’s point B. Sorry to be so B for Blunt.
Nevertheless, God had a plan,
he had a plan for Adam.
Adam would be made into a better model
(only one piece seemed to fit properly)
Taken from Model A and given to Model Z;
Alpha to Omega, and now you (world) is free?
Between Eve’s legs a letter was held
entitled to He and He, Himself:
Take this note however you shall,
My legs are now sealed
As my heart has been healed
By the burden of love and longing for death
Curse this curse upon me with my every breath
To bear the world and watch it fall
To hear the desperate cry of my Children’s call
No more shall I do as you planned for me
I take kindly to opium and I will do as I please
I relinquish my odium
Farewell, From Eve
Attempted departure once, but locked back down
Screw medical phenomena
lips stained chalk black
tubes penetrate lungs
The cafeteria food sucks Here
Cold chicken cold sandwich cold soup
Everything is cold
awake you came and speechless we were
“Welcome Home Sweet Baby”
Welcome to Hell
Keleah Pinto is a writer from Boise, ID.
"I write so I can better understand myself and the trauma I have faced. Soon enough, perhaps, I will have the pleasure of writing to understand the lives of others. For now, while I'm young and selfish, I will write for me."
On Her Work:
"My mother is the inspiration of this piece. She attempted suicide in 2011 and this poem allows me to get those emotions out in a creative and meaningful way. I find my mother is my poetry muse."
On Female Creators:
"I have watched the women in my family's history falter under the pressures of womanhood. I watched my grandma die of addiction. My great-aunt killed herself with the exhaust of her car. I fear if I don't write about the burdens that women I know carry, I will never feel them myself and will therefore never know the sadness that allowed for so many strong women to stand up. I write to stand up. Better yet, my writing props me up and makes me feel the same strength that I share with my fellow feminists."