Aidan Aragon



In this current state     
one of emotional undress        /           physical masking        
I am afraid
of being pulled over, more so than usual
glitter and glamour
a shield of mists leaving me,
strong to the self and weak to the world,
on the edge of anxiety
edge of the blade         slicing
                                                down the highway
black truck  /  black eyeliner              cut across the land
a metaphor
for my childhood
(I still have so much growing up to do)
dripping in blood
red eviscerated femminity, stuffed in my maw,
hanging from my lips;
it’s last Tuesday’s lunch         /
the perpetual lump in my throat
Adam’s apple bobbing            choking           suffocating      drowning
look at the road
I still have so much growing up to do,
I tell myself, blood smear
burgundy rust across my lips — red face / red anger / red shame /
blush blood  love hate
I have so much growing up to do,
My body a constant tear and tear and tear and

the best way to describe it is 



My body is not mine:
(Mother owns this body as she owns
                                    anything under herroof
                                    she made me
                                    this body belongs to her, the body of
                                    her son.)
This body belongs to the world who commands it
the world who warps is
the world where, I’m pretty sure, all of us have starred in that mirror
and hated, to some degree, what starred back
I’m pretty sure we (I) peeled back the layers
squished          smushed          scratched         screamed
dreaming of something not there
dreaming of something to be adored
                                                                        my face
                                                                        just for the night
                                                                        and regret my happiness, 
until it all melts away
until someone else makes it o.k.



Tell me to be a man
like all of those words are a poison
spit them out, spit them on me
then when you say that’s for girls      /           thats girly
it’s like a punch to the gut
and I don’t know where I am
tell me to pick a side
and all I see are pieces of me
shattered slivers of
everything I am           /           everything you want me to be
swept up, the dust is indiscernible
from its parts and
I have spent years picking them apart.



Face down
eyes down
lips down
sunglasses up, blinders
up with the downtrodden facade
making my face,
shiny and glittering
the girls are taking their picture and 
I am hiding from the boys
and there’s no reason to hide
I tell myself
you’re safe
I tell myself
I can be 
(I am) 
I need to hear it



Walk into
the red
glow over my body
cherry syrupy 
in and over my skin
the beats, the beats, the beats,
add some bass
add some treble
add some throwback jams
relax into the nostalgia and your
body moves like water flowing
down my back
light in my face
music under my skin
everything is serene
everything is me in the underlit
loving not feeling my body
loving not feeling



Shields down
clothes off
face, sweat smeared over skin
there is nothing as beautiful as this,
we are all beautiful;
merry melting into the night.



A break in the night
reflection of
glass overflowing and
amber glow, golden air
flush in fluorescence, no one looks good
in this light
flip of the switch
flip of the face
flip of my stomach
churning away 
I feel everything coming up
the lump tries to hold it back, but
I burst;
my body water logged,
flash flooding or hurricane or monsoon
the night raining down 
on me
or in me?
or from me?
everything a blur of
clouded eyes watching the faces float together.
After, my skin blooms and my face becomes a puddle
After, our bodies shiver and we go —
wholly limp  wholly lost  wholly drained —
on our own.



Clutching the wheel                Clutching my ribs                   Clutching my pearls
I can barely see the road
and I think the deer know
I think everything knows;
knowing, like this, is a kind of breaking
I wipe glitter on the wheel
I see it in my peripherals and
the irony of such a bright thing
in such a dark moment,
it makes me want to crash further      harder              so I hit home faster. 
Cut across the land, a jagged stripe
falling into my seat, falling into the tears and tears of my body.

Aidan Aragon is a poet from Northeastern Wisconsin. They can often be found chasing down their cats, listening to Mitski, or hopelessly trying to catch up on their growing, “Need to read,” book list. Their work can be found at/forthcoming from Cosmonauts Avenue and The Cerurove. You can find them on Twitter or Instagram @aidanaragon.