WEEK 8: Champ Match: Bodey vs Inno BODEY WINS

[Bodey]

The voices of newscasters slithered into my dreams,
with a TV’s Breaking-News banner dancing across the screen
I slid my tongue against my teeth only to feel the sandpaper
I’ve brushed obsessively for weeks and it’s still a vile flavor
I dragged myself off the bed and crawled into the kitchen
Keeping my face down toward the floor to ignore how I’d been livin

I was the product of a cookie-cutter family home,
One that comes together at the dinner table and laughs
My mother’s a nurse, my dad’s our softball coach
They’d read us stories, tuck us in, and leave the door open a crack
Bazooka Joe bubblegum with cherry slushies to even out the summer sun
An upbringing that didn’t exactly welcome the person I’d soon become
All the times my family laughed or cried, I had to fake it, keep it cordial
Because I’d always known I wasn’t like them, nowhere close to normal
Unlike other kids, I never feared the boogey man nor supernatural tales
Actually, I didn’t feel much of anything except a thirst I couldn’t pail
I’ll never forget the first time I gripped our kitten’s throat
It’s as if someone turned out the lights as she began to choke
I wasn’t happy, sad or angry; it simply scratched the itch inside
No emotion all my life, but this is what would make me feel alive

I continued to hear the newsman make unusual announcements
How we need to keep a close eye on all our furry little house pets
A man allegedly came home to a bloody lawn of mutilation
As they broadcasted the address, I realized this man was David
A handsome guy I dated, who cut off complete communication
Without an explanation. And here he is, a yuppie, sad,
on live TV because he’s only got a couple puppy pads
left of his Labrador Retriever.
For some reason, I kept the head.
David always wanted to do theater, I gave him the News instead
I kept picturing his red-splattered lawn and all the yelps the puppy cried
I’ve been taught that it’s all wrong, but somehow this feels justified…

…Yellowed eyes now blinking empty, my brain sits as a passenger
These hands are no longer mine, these veins a bruise-like lavender
The Scully & Mulder without the bogus shit
A dreamlike introduction to a haunting type of freedom
And it wasn’t til I was older that I began to notice it—
that everyone’s got a monster clawing underneath ‘em