When You Tell Me To See a Doctor I Decide I’m Not Sick

Camille Ferguson

When you tell me to see a sex-therapist on the basis 

of my low sex-drive, I go out & inspect moss instead. 

I interrogate how much it needs out of another’s body. 

I go out & forget mine: eat a whole break-fast of cloud-

milk & sun-yolk & potatoes I pull right from the ground. 

I clean my plate. I float fat & happy on the silver 

river, contemplate weightlessness. I go & build myself 

a library. I don’t fill it with any books to educate you. 

Then I focus up. I grab my body back from the ether 

of neglect. I meditate on it: each individual part. 

Carpals to metatarsals. I learn how to love my clavicle. 

Under the surface of a mirror-pond, bluegills bicker 

with their boyfriends over more basic bullshit than identity.  

I wonder if their blue cheeks blush up red 

with anger. I wonder about classification based on body. 

I don’t use asexual because I don’t want to identify  

as anything-sexual. I want only to be called by my name.

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art by cy @cyberwitch666
 

Camille Ferguson is a queer poet living and working in Cleveland, Ohio. Camille recently graduated from Cleveland State University, where she received the Neal Chandler Creative Writing Enhancement Award. Her work is featured or forthcoming in Drunk Monkeys, Okay Donkey, Flypaper Lit & Zone 3, among others. Follow her on Twitter @camferg1