break-up poetry for high school boy i remember too vividly

if you want to know the truth,
i've promised my father's pocket watches 
to several boys i dated & i plan on
promising them to more. 
all boys want a piece of your ancestry. 
they want to place 
your metal heart in the palms of their hands.
all those boys had 
long fingers. they drummed them on walls
& desks & any surface i offered.
i slept with that drumming on my forehead.
inside my skull i was plotting. 
i got down on all fours some nights
to let the boys sit on my back, 
one on top of the next. a stack of boys.
they tested my bones so 
i dangled the watches
in front of their faces. their eyes
turned into mandalas:
the opposite of time. 
they widenned on the inside.  
what i'm trying to say is,
i put a trance on them as revenge
for using their bodies on me. i told them 
they were made of gears & twisting.
i turned their heads in circles.
they spun. my little trinkets.
i have to tell you 
it is never enough to spin them.
you want to see them 
warble. you want them to know
what it feels like to have a floating body--
one that refuses basic physics.
i love boys because i have a father
& because my father keeps time in the attic. 
of course i love girls too
& any human but this poem is about boys.
i remember being seventeen & 
sometimes i roll over to see 
a closet full of pocket watches.
there is a boy in bed next to me know
his eyes are pried open with wanting.
i tell him to go back to prom 
& be a corsage & he cried but he obeys.
what you want is almost always 
a placeholder for what you really want.
i want to take back those promises. 
i want to take a knife to the inside 
of my pocket watches & cleave 
the golden gears apart.
like shucking clams or prying the meat
from lobster appendages.
the boys will come back & seeing them destroyed
finally leave me be. 
oh! but i will miss them. 
what i will miss i'm not sure.
that is the mot troubling part.
the ache is lives in no location.
i take a marker out & trace all over my skin
trying to pin point exactly where it trembles.
there are so many pocket watches in me
& they all belong to someone else.