Michael Russell
self-portrait as ophanimon / falldown mode
“Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down.” -Ring Around the Rosie
it was gospel when i softened into angel,
said take my hand & call it whatever.
love, never again will i invite
the oil slick of your fingertips
tumorous with the cellular language
of another... / drop him. no more
i’m sorry, no more hands painted gold
groping kindness with midas greed.
no more fingers
gloved with full sets of teeth, acid kisses
& throwaway romances. no more lockjaw
chewing & sucking the imagined milk
curdle, my fat& hanging tits. i’m not
your mother, dear. when your teeth grazed
my nipples & clamped--
you hung like a noose,
body limp as a flaccid dick, my wings
feathered with angels & doves
dreamt extinction. cheater, i’ll drop you
like an internet connection,
reset. my wings
caw black the more you claw back
with i can’t, nothing i do is good enough
for you. well, shit. i can’t whisper the rage
piling inside like dog shit, can’t carry
the steel pipe of your body when you pull
& pull & pull & pull at my wings
heavy with metal & bats, this world
dammed by false prophets & gods, stars
struck dumb in the surgery of hollywood
romcoms. go on, sell me
another lie in the shape of a movie ticket.
no more i’ll do better next time, no more
next time, no more pressing my neck
into the deep curve of my scythe.
i’ve learned revenge is just another word for justice.
*According to Digimon Wiki, Ophanimon is a Holy Mother-like Digimon who embodies the loving and merciful aspects of God. However, Ophanimon Falldown Mode is a fallen angel Digimon. It’s an Ophanimon who was so angry that it suppressed its own emotions and fell into madness.
“Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down.” -Ring Around the Rosie
it was gospel when i softened into angel,
said take my hand & call it whatever.
love, never again will i invite
the oil slick of your fingertips
tumorous with the cellular language
of another... / drop him. no more
i’m sorry, no more hands painted gold
groping kindness with midas greed.
no more fingers
gloved with full sets of teeth, acid kisses
& throwaway romances. no more lockjaw
chewing & sucking the imagined milk
curdle, my fat& hanging tits. i’m not
your mother, dear. when your teeth grazed
my nipples & clamped--
you hung like a noose,
body limp as a flaccid dick, my wings
feathered with angels & doves
dreamt extinction. cheater, i’ll drop you
like an internet connection,
reset. my wings
caw black the more you claw back
with i can’t, nothing i do is good enough
for you. well, shit. i can’t whisper the rage
piling inside like dog shit, can’t carry
the steel pipe of your body when you pull
& pull & pull & pull at my wings
heavy with metal & bats, this world
dammed by false prophets & gods, stars
struck dumb in the surgery of hollywood
romcoms. go on, sell me
another lie in the shape of a movie ticket.
no more i’ll do better next time, no more
next time, no more pressing my neck
into the deep curve of my scythe.
i’ve learned revenge is just another word for justice.
*According to Digimon Wiki, Ophanimon is a Holy Mother-like Digimon who embodies the loving and merciful aspects of God. However, Ophanimon Falldown Mode is a fallen angel Digimon. It’s an Ophanimon who was so angry that it suppressed its own emotions and fell into madness.
On Hearing Genie in a Bottle for the First Time
Floral sundress sprawled on carpet,
my mother’s heels tossed
like ballet slippers against white wall.
I feel like I’ve been locked up tight...
I slip my foot into my mother’s shoe
close my eyes and imagine: hips,
moon-curved.
I fasten a blonde wig to my hair, brush it—my own hair,
pull it back into a neat ponytail bangs dangling
like a sliced thumb. I approach the vanity
waiting for someone to release me.
I soften my cheeks with blush then redden my lips.
I turn up the music, sway my hips
the only way I know how my bare foot twirling,
my dress a sombrero.
I’m a genie in a bottle or
a turtle in a shell or
a pearl in an oyster or
a butterfly in a chrysalis.
The music’s fading and the lights down low.
The fantasy, for today, has been fulfilled.
I, in my rose-skin sundress, wear a language
of achievement,
the coy smile of someone who knows
they’ve done good work.
My body is saying let’s go to the park,
let’s go get some ice cream, strawberry.
I peel off the blonde wig lemon rind,
toss it into the fire.
I undo my dress. The flow in the folds of silk wrinkle in the smoke.
My body says I’ve come so far, done so much—it’s time.
I remove my mother’s spiked heel,
button my jeans wipe the crimson stain from my lips.
There’s nothing to be sad about.
I open my eyes and the radio sings:
Come come, come on and let me out.
**The italicized lines are lifted from the song Genie in a Bottle by Christina Aguilera
Floral sundress sprawled on carpet,
my mother’s heels tossed
like ballet slippers against white wall.
I feel like I’ve been locked up tight...
I slip my foot into my mother’s shoe
close my eyes and imagine: hips,
moon-curved.
I fasten a blonde wig to my hair, brush it—my own hair,
pull it back into a neat ponytail bangs dangling
like a sliced thumb. I approach the vanity
waiting for someone to release me.
I soften my cheeks with blush then redden my lips.
I turn up the music, sway my hips
the only way I know how my bare foot twirling,
my dress a sombrero.
I’m a genie in a bottle or
a turtle in a shell or
a pearl in an oyster or
a butterfly in a chrysalis.
The music’s fading and the lights down low.
The fantasy, for today, has been fulfilled.
I, in my rose-skin sundress, wear a language
of achievement,
the coy smile of someone who knows
they’ve done good work.
My body is saying let’s go to the park,
let’s go get some ice cream, strawberry.
I peel off the blonde wig lemon rind,
toss it into the fire.
I undo my dress. The flow in the folds of silk wrinkle in the smoke.
My body says I’ve come so far, done so much—it’s time.
I remove my mother’s spiked heel,
button my jeans wipe the crimson stain from my lips.
There’s nothing to be sad about.
I open my eyes and the radio sings:
Come come, come on and let me out.
**The italicized lines are lifted from the song Genie in a Bottle by Christina Aguilera
Michael Russell (he / they) is Mama Bear to chapbook Grindr Opera (Frog Hollow Press). He’s queer, has BPD, Bipolar Disorder and way too much anxiety. His work has appeared in Arc Poetry Magazine, Heavy Feather Review, Homology Lit, Plenitude among other places. He lives in Toronto and thinks you’re fantabulous. Insta:@michael.russell.poet