we often forget that yesterday has been turned to dust,
long before tomorrow comes
pastel brush strokes gently conceal lies, wounds, and barbed wire scars
wouldn’t you rather be privy to the explicit state of affairs
rather than be presented with a silver platter, a shroud, filled with lacy lyric and milky emotions swimming in remorse
deception seeps from every one of your thousands of pores
how many times do you have to hit an egg until yoke begins to seep out?

monsters have shoved their claws into my ambitions
you have turned my body into butter
unsalted, not the good kind
my arm reminds me of a tree carved my young men,
hungry to be remembered and to leave an ugly mark
dripping like sap

i feel like Jenny
“dear god, make me a bird, so i can fly far, far away from here”
because i am ******* sick and tired to being forced to look forward to telling my excruciating narrative,
like pulling my nails from my nail beds
and remember, it is my ******* story,
not yours,
it will never be yours

i am not your final girl
i am not even your girl
and i hate to break it to you,
but i never will be

i am the daughter of Khaleesi, and Aaliyah, and Beyoncé,
women who have walked through fire and have come out the other side, unscathed,
women who continue to take no **** form anybody

the world is a *****,
but over realized,
so am i,
yet more than anything,
i have been the cattiest ***** to myself for years ,
and i’ve finally decided,
i am ******* fed up with taking my own abuse

winners and women won’t quit on the person that made them who they are,
who drove the get-away car,
you, me
three days post Martin’s birthday
“darkness cannot drive out darkness;
only light can do that”
raised fist,
raised middle fingers
stained all my white shirts,
burned all my flags
surrender is not an option,
honesty guiding me,
carved my name everywhere i’ve been,
everywhere i will go

tell me, how did it feel when my foot pierced your chest
when i told you to get off of me
tell me, was it hard when i told you no
when i made you realize that you are not the owner of my body
that you do not get to decide what choices i can and can not make
please, in full detail, for everyone in attendance, explain how your heart slowed when i proudly exclaimed “stop, do not touch me”
because i am not your property
somehow, i don’t remember signing the lease over to you
my shorts length is not a public property sign
saying “all are welcome”
because with my hand on a tarot deck, i will proudly exclaim that “my body is mine” that my words and decisions will not change unless i want them to
and maybe one day, i will allow someone to sign a lease and borrow the title
but today, i get to keep the pen