Love Is A Word That Lies
how I hate the word cuddle do you want to cuddle cuddle me need me show me lovethis was never about love if I held you in my mouth like a stone
would you be satisfied if I carved your name across my flesh in the colors of the morning sky pink orange echoes of red streaking across white like your hand print
red lingering on my thighs my stomach my breasts if I said yes agreed assented relented would you love me then?Mother you said I was the baby in your arms
always wanting your cuddleHusband you said I was the woman in your arms dumb mute her tongue cut from her mouth by a thousand yeses her blood drying no one
noticingBrother I was the tiny girl in your bed not understanding your touch was never good touchhow I hate the word cuddle how a word can lie teeth bared
while I mistaking teeth for a smile said yes and yes and yes as my brain scrambled to understand why my body screamed no and no and no my mind twisting agonizing
over the decades so slow to grasp it was never about love never about me poor ugly confused lonely lovely child
Signe E. Land is a queer disabled autistic writer living in Hot Springs, Arkansas and Minneapolis. She holds an MFA from the University of Minnesota and a JD from William Mitchell College of Law, graduating class valedictorian. Ms. Land’s work has appeared in William Mitchell Law Review, Bookends Review, Rivet: The Journal of Writing that Risks, Atticus Review, Coachella Review, pif Magazine, Lady/Liberty/Lit and others. In 2019, Ms. Land won third place in the Kay Snow Poetry Competition, Second Place in Atticus Review’s Flash Non-Fiction Contest, and was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in poetry.