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 Apr 2016 the Terror
Ren
worship
 Apr 2016 the Terror
Ren
lesbians will want to write about your hands
the way they wrap around warm cups of tea
and clench and unclench with rage and pride
she'll notice the delicate length of your fingers
how they feel pressing and bruising into soft flesh
the art they make, the stories they create
the blood sprouted from knuckles in societal protest
their kindness, their firmness, their warmth
lesbians memorize every mark and line of them
how they never strike her
how they settle in her own, how they feel inside her
how you use them to clasp your bra and pin up your hair
the way you draw them together, how they fold into you
when they touch to your lips, when they touch to hers
how they pass through her barriers, sneak under shirts
wake her from sleep, lull her to rest, appear in her dreams
lesbians will take them in her own
hold them to her mouth, her breast, her heart
wonder what they are doing at any time of the day
feature them in fantasies and daydreams
claim them as her own, as if they were hers
love them when they shake and when they are steady
she'll want your hands to be her hands and hers to be yours
interchangeable, familiar, worshiped
 Feb 2016 the Terror
mk
the rainbow
 Feb 2016 the Terror
mk
i try to hide
the pink of my *******
but my hands are too small
as one is covered
the other is exposed

(is there any point trying
to protect
this still purple heart of mine?)


i take refuge in the bunker
from wandering eyes
my skin it burns
like heated orange flames
from their gaze

my soles are busted black
from running so long, so far
my shoulders are browned
from fighting the sun

i am looking for a corner
i am looking for a hole:
dark solace


as a child i imagined my maidenhood
to be a pretty pure pink
but now my thigh are rubbed raw
and red drips down the white canvas
i am so tired

i wonder if the little spark of yellow youth
remains hidden deep within me

maybe if i follow the tunnel inside
i will find a reason to no longer hide


my struggle is coming to an end
as they catch up to me
i see the little green of burnt meadows
it empties into the stagnant blue of the murky waters

instead of giving in,
i give up.

into the blue-green i fall:
deep
deep
deeper yet still;

the rainbow blooms
the sky is clear
*i am gone.
the colors of the rainbow never did seem so sad.
 Dec 2015 the Terror
ri
six months
 Dec 2015 the Terror
ri
they call it self harm like you are the one hurting yourself. I can tell you that six months ago I was not the one carving hate into my skin. but people don't want to hear that. people don't want to hear that my skin has been razor free for half a year because that would mean razors have touched it. I know this because I told my best friend about my hobby and they are not my best friend anymore. people only want to be friends with survivors. no one wants to be around long sleeves regardless of the weather. no one wants to be around a rain cloud on a sunny day. no one wants to go on a drive with you if you always end up at the same bridge. you have to learn how to be your own best friend. you have to learn to put the razor down. you have to learn how to love yourself. you have to learn that scars heal and people change. six months ago I did not know this. I've learned I've changed and so can you.
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