Victoria Lim (b. 1989)
SELECTED POEMS
Perfect People
A man walks into a bar,
and goes "Ow!"A man walks into a bar,
except she's not a man at all.
Not biologically.
Why does she dress like that, like she wishes she had balls?Part-gay walks into a bar
radiating confusion and indecisiveness.
She walks into a bar
and just because,
she gets hit by a car
she falls down the stairs
she falls in love
I hope it washes out.
Well, I guess she made up her mind at least.A girl walks into a bar.
The Devil says,
"You look like you want rescuing."
The girl says,
"No, I'm fine, thank you. I can handle it."A girl walks into a bar.
Mata Hari says,
"You look like you want saving."
The girl says,
"Can I kiss you?"Mata Hari, the beautiful,
the dangerous, the dancing
knife, the whisper-smith,
the destroyer of men's hands
and throats; when I remember
her I remember dark hair and
eyes they called coals, I remember
wanting to grow up to be an
lepidopterist, to pin her
fluttering and cut away the bells
and kohl, my prize death's head moth
to have cruel lips peel out my own knife,
but that way lies no path for good girls.And Mata Hari isn't real, anyway.
A girl walks into a bar.
She says,
"I feel slow.
I feel molasses-easy
I feel trip-wire cut-out
and fever-rich rucked-over
I feel
fucked."
The bartender says,
"You probably just need to get laid."A girl walks into a bar.
She's got cuts all over her hands
and shadows under her eyes.
She says,
"What could I have to done to avoid this?"A girl walks into a bar.
She peels herself apart
unsticking muscle from bone
and shows you the soft stomach;
green villi, acid, and last night's meal.
You shake your head,
and say,
"Thank you for trying.
But no one asked."A girl unpeels herself in a bar.
A room, really, just a room
with mirrors all along one side.
Where perfect people lift legs,
stretch to kiss kneecaps.
She's okay. She can handle it.
You say,
"It's okay to ask for help."A girl sits in a room.
She's trying to fit her tongue back in her mouth.
It keeps unspooling, swollen
sodden, all the things she's collected
inside her head. She's waiting for someone to ask.A girl sits by the side of the road.
Her hands are shaking.
The Devil walks by and says—Well. The Devil doesn't say anything.
The Devil doesn't have to.
by Victoria Lim
first performed at Destination INK (2013)
