"Wear black, it'll make you look thinner."
And she did. So often, in fact,
the simple act of getting dressed
in the morning began to feel like
she was attending her own funeral.

You assign to us the connotation of fragility–
“a woman is like a flower.”

Entangled in your own bias,
you see a flower for its petals only,
so blinded by their delicacy,  
you forget the blazing pistil.

What if I told you a flower
is no different than a loaded gun?

Maybe if I push my sadness down
deep enough, it won’t be able to reach me anymore.

I don’t want to carry bear spray
because I’m afraid of being
attacked by a bear; I want to
carry bear spray because I’m afraid
of being attacked by a man.

If I had to choose between being
alone in a forest with a bear
or being alone in a forest
with a man, I would choose
the bear. See, you can reason
with a hungry bear; you cannot
reason with a hungry man.

Call me hysterical all you want.

Some of the greatest artists were
[are] hysterical women.

Bumble, I find it quite ironic
that your mascot is a Bee.

Not only have you chosen a mascot
who belongs to a dying species
(good men are also a dying species,
I'm afraid) but you have chosen a mascot
who is known to sting.

Tell me, Bumble, if I am the one
who is being stung does that mean
he will drop dead immediately
after stinging me?

Or is he just a No-Good-Wasp
that will never be held
accountable for his
mistreatment of women?

Shhh.

Stop crying.

Shhhhh!

Better cover that mouth of yours. Or else they’ll hear.

Shush!

The power’s come back on, the darkness can’t  protect you anymore.

Enough!

That’s a good girl. Now, let’s see a smile.

I let myself break like the lines of a poem,
because every break is a continuation
of this wild & beautiful journey.

Every break comes with another grand adventure.

Another chance to try again when the sun rises
(there will always be tomorrow).

Every break comes with the promise of more poetry.

(I suppose I am so fond of parathesis,
because I, too, only exist as an afterthought)

If Medusa took a Xanny,
would the Xanny only sedate Medusa
or would it also sedate the serpents
writhing in her hair?

They can only say they love me
with their fingers crossed behind
their back.

TW: Self-harm
•••
I’ve never looked as good in diamonds
as I have in red. Blood:

a string of pearls around my wrist.
Crimson lace—garter caressing thigh.

Diamonds don’t shine in sorrow
the way steel does.

For the record:

no, not everyone has a “little bit of OCD”
nor can you “almost” have OCD.

You either ******* have it or you don't.

Really, it’s blasphemous--

to use the sacred art of poetry
to gatekeep an illness you are
fortunate you don't have
all for the sake of clout.

ADHD forgets to feed the fish
and when she finally remembers,
it is dead at the bottom of the tank.

Well, I suppose dead is an understatement:

a mossy film embalms the body
(at least what is left of it)
its suction-cup maw putrefied
as it suckles the sickle of death.

Half of the body is there.

Half of it has disintegrated.

Imagine existing nowhere and everywhere
all at once; microscopic remnants
defile every particle of water long after
the rest of you has vanished.

Can beauty exist in the aftermath of sorrow?

Not sure what I need to feel better:
a benzo held under my tongue like a secret
or an exorcism to take the edge off.

But I’m genuinely curious.

If I’m just a poet.

Or if I’m just sad.

****.

Do you see my sadness, too?

You don’t really care for poetry,
do ya?

Sometimes, pretending not to be sad
is easier than telling people you’re sad.

Maybe I don’t want success
maybe I just wanna get ******!

I’ve never been someone’s “everything”
and that really ******* hurts sometimes,
ya know?

I only know what it means to miss someone; never have I known what it means to be missed.

When I uproot the hairs sprouting from the glabella
and strip my cupid’s bow of its wildflowers,
Frida Kahlo writhes in her grave.

She haunts me.

“You are beautiful.”
[unibrow and all]

“You are beautiful.”
[moustache and all]

“You are beautiful.”
[sadness and all]

Was she actually clingy?

Or was she reasonable in her response
when you neglected her?

Was she really needy?

Or were you just incapable
of meeting her needs?

If I’m the villain, then you’re
the origin story.

What do ya say, Kid?

Do you have another poem in you?

Currently listening to Taylor Swift’s
Reputation album & plotting
your death, baby.

{oops}

Maybe he didn’t burn you
in the literal sense;
but gaslighting is its own
misogynistic brand of conflagration.

TW: Self-harm, suicide, drowning
-
Poor ophelia.

Silly ophelia.

Mad ophelia.

Too-Sensitive ophelia.

Crazy ophelia.

Curses-Too-Much ophelia.

Sad ophelia.

Mentally ill ophelia.

Naive ophelia.

Attention-Seeking ophelia.

Slit-Her-Wrists-In-The-Bathtub ophelia.

Melodramatic ophelia.

Bat-**** ophelia.

Baby-Girl ophelia.

Clingy ophelia.

Manic-Pixie-Dream-Girl ophelia.

Extreme ophelia.

Drunk ophelia.

Alcoholic ophelia.

Sloppy ophelia.

Bleeding ophelia.

Unrequited-Love ophelia.

Furious ophelia.

Warped ophelia.

Disobedient ophelia.

Fragile ophelia.

Unwilling-To-Get-Help ophelia.

***** ophelia.

Borderline ophelia.

Took-Too-Many-Benzos ophelia

****** ophelia.

Clumsy ophelia.

Severe ophelia.

**** ophelia.

Burden ophelia.

Obstinant 0phelia.

Selfish ophelia.

Hormonal ophelia.

Obsessive-Compulsive ophelia.

Bruised ophelia.

******* ophelia.

Horrid ophelia.

Useless ophelia.

Delusional ophelia.

Made it up ophelia

Cuckoo-For-Cuckoo-Puffs ophelia.

Broken ophelia.

Tempest ophelia.

Cringey ophelia.

Terrified ophelia.

******-***** ophelia.

No-One-Feels-Sorry-For-You ophelia.

Suicidal ophelia.

Traumatized ophelia.

Stop-Your-Crying ophelia.

CPTSD ophelia.

Suicidal ophelia.

Water-Logged ophelia.



Dead! Ophelia?

-

We never saw the signs, Ophelia.

-

Forgotten: Ophelia.


-

Semantic satiation
[Ophelia].

-

Your name has begun to sound like nonsense, Ophelia.

***** stheno.
Bossy stheno.
Too loud stheno.
Confrontational stheno.
No wonder she can’t hold down a relationship stheno.
Hormonal stheno.
Did you know Medusa had a sister—stheno?

-
Forgot her name immediately after writing this poem.

(stheno)

-
Thought her name was spelled stethno.

Men love a good Femme Fatale.

But they do not love an ugly Femme Fatale—

So they plucked her naked,
gave her a nose job, and called her
a “mermaid” instead

{Siren}

My nightmares are filled
with all the words I should have said.

You know what’s worse than the actual nightmares?

Becoming so used to the nightmares,
they don’t even faze you anymore.

My ****** writes a poem:

.

Sometimes,
I get so angry, I want
to tear open my skin.

Who needs anger management
when you can give yourself
a bloodletting instead?

I want to annotate my wrists
with the names of every person
who ever hurt me--
part the Red Sea with steel.

And I'm pretty sure a phlebotomy
is the closest I'll ever get to a lobotomy
(or an exorcism).

My trauma (my fury) is a toddler
throwing a tantrum in the middle
of the dairy aisle in the supermarket.

I pluck this child--
feral and snivelling--
from my veins and throw
her over my shoulder.

I don't know where her screaming ends
and where mine begins.

Sometimes, I think all she really wants
is a hug.

Boy math
is when men on Instagram claim women
who solve boy math equations are bigots.

Boy math is men who benefit from patriarchy
misplacing the meaning of the word “bigotry”
within their male privilege.

We are wo
morpheme for
man.

But I see your pain, sisters.

I acknowledge it.

I validate it;

I gift us the vowel
e

w o e

for we will not stay broken
while men claim the throne to

whole

I think perhaps I will write
a poem once the pain has subsided.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is
crying when the shelf your father
has just ******* into your bedroom wall is

c r
o
o
k   e
         d.

Fool me once--
shame on you.

Fool me twice--
shame on you.

Fool me three times--
STILL shame on you.

{gaslight}

You say my tears
are a sign of
weakness

even though
they are of
the same composition
as the tidal waves

tell me—

will you call the ocean
weak?

this is why you can't have nice things--
you end up breaking them

{my heart was a nice thing}

Hi, Atus

I am a pretzel

knotted hunch in my back

one salty *******

If you didn’t want me to write poetry about
you,
then perhaps you shouldn’t have ****** me off

January 1st, 2022,
12:23 AM:

empty

I’ll be your pin up girl
just so you can
pin me down,
Baby.

“Take me down.”

—your pin up girl