Baby, I heard that you’re in love

Oh what a wet mess


Commands disguised as questions

from a steady and certain mouth

Licking the soft of my lips

Salivating, ravenous, gasping for that kind of unwavering authority


I never knew about the safety of breathing

I wanna learn what your lungs do

How do they know to keep going when you speak?


I stare

reluctantly, fascinated by your closeness

I want to tear myself apart, sew the pieces together, and

rip myself apart again

and again

and once more in case the others

didn’t take


Baby, I heard you broke your brain

Oh what an ensuing din


You tell me I am


And me

And right now

as i relive my undoing

as you witness my little deaths


Baby, I heard you are all in

Oh what a lofty thought



Rebecca Portela is a writer and speaker for human rights and animal protection in New York City. She specializes in the genres of psychology and comedy writing. She recently finished writing her memoir, Unearthed, where she uses her unique sense of humor to address difficult subject matters, including PTSD and sexual abuse. Her work can be found in Idle Ink magazine, Beyond Words (Queer Anthology), X-Ray, trampset, io Literary, Stone of Madness Press (inaugural issue), and elsewhere.