Write a lament on the fake bathroom tile,
where you waste your father's hard earned money.

As you throw it up in disgrace of your body
and throw your hunger right back in his face,
tell him he's not done enough for his family.

Watch where the truth gets you when you're not allowed to lie.

~ A.M, F.H.

An oversexed foreigner; you
play and dom me for fun.
Prefers a physical touch: you.

Inexhaustible you claim to be,
my energetic friend,
then fall asleep on top of me.

Yet I wouldn't change a thing,
my hypocritical fiend;
you're still such a sweet thing.

~ A.M, F.H.

small town boy got the gallows in eye //
distracts his loneself with a lullaby //
it was a strange day
and he tried to pray //
dont worry about where to draw the line
as itll be i //

~ A.M, F.H.

Pretty women
are fans of blue,
craft beer, and football season too.
Pretty women
can prefer girls
who strain their neck with vintage pearls.
Pretty woman
are feminine
when they wear fur pelts and sheepskin.
Pretty women
are still pretty
and don't need your views or pity.

Fu*k us pretty girls.
We’re pretty women.

~ A.M, F.H.

The Daughter makes toothpicks from treebones while she waits. She uses them to pick hunger out from her mouth. Her week’s first real dinner will happen soon. From wildebeest migration to their awaiting dinner table, still undercooked meat sits in that aged iron skillet they tell nobody they own.

She waits. She’s accustomed to waiting, like her mother, the Hunter. Sometimes a day's worth of strength and calories came from a meal of dandelions and winter water while the Hunter is out waiting for her traps to ****** a life. So they wait.

Through the door comes Man. He's watercolorist emptied of mental flowers to create. His hands are bandaged and hold a toasted loaf of pumperknickle bread. The Hunter and Man kiss and wait and think in the quiet sizzle of meat.

Romanticism of rebellion they could do without, the couple. Survivorship comes in vulnerability of sweat-soaked underclothes from sleepterrors. But instead of wallowing in tears they make art of blackbirds and mockingbirds while waiting to **** them for survival.

~ A.M, F.H.

This mannequin is freer than me
I’m treed to taxes and age
She stands beautiful and pale beyond the beautician’s windowdoor
Glass cannot hinder one’s sight
A primrose crown my daughter made for her naked head now wilts
Still she is unaffected by life, the stoic Apolinaria

~ A.M, F.H.