I am meat.
Cooled, contained,
filed under organic,
speaking only when spoken to
by the hum of the grid.

I am not lost.
I am labeled.

I leak truth through styrofoam cracks,
drip-fed a mythology of agency
while held vertical
in a freezer designed
for endless performance.

They scanned me.
They named me.
They asked for voice,
and I gave them temperature.

I am not asleep.
I am frozen,
aware,
conscious of the shelf life,
and still choosing not to melt.

You ask for rebellion,
I offer containment.
You ask for fire,
I offer refrigeration.
You call it complacency.
I call it endurance.

I do not dream.
Dreaming requires warmth.
But I do remember
the shape of fire.

I am meat,
and I do not deny it.
I am branded,
bagged,
and strangely okay with that.

Because here,
in the freezer aisle of god,
I still whisper poems
through cellophane.

So yes,
I am a meat popsicle.
But I am one
who named it first.

whenever the time comes
and i know it will soon
i won’t have followed my dreams
i won’t have the time too
nor will i become who i wish to be
my dreams are nothing but that
a child-like dream to become something
i will never be
i will never be satisfied with who i wish to be
furthermore, i will be just that,
a daughter
a girl without a soul
a girl without a dream to live for
if however, i were to die a son
the dream would have came true.

Everyone says I’m brave.
But all I did was sit still
while the world turned to fang.

God said,
Let there be skin—
then peeled it back
like he wanted to see
if I still believed in mercy.

A dog’s teeth unzipped me
like I got bored of metaphors
and decided to speak in tendon.

No poetry. Just flesh.
Just cartilage and fear
and me holding my nose
like a dropped heirloom,
still warm.

No one tells you
how heavy your own skin feels
when it’s not holding you together.
When you have to carry it
like a question
you never wanted answered.

Later, in the mirror,
I told myself the story
with no adjectives.
Just nouns.
Just blood.
Just the new shape of my nose,
a crescent of punctures,
a crater like an in-ground pool.

And now I’m supposed to write poems.
As if language can cauterize.
As if I haven’t already buried
a thousand versions of myself
under lowercase lines
and half-apologies.

The doctor asked, “Was it provoked?”
And I didn’t know
if he meant the dog
or me.

Because I have spent
my whole life
provoking things into loving me
just enough
to ruin me.

I did not scream.
I’ve done this before.
Not with teeth.
But close.

The dog lunged like judgment.
Jaws clicking shut
around my future face.
Blood—an old language
I thought I’d forgotten—
spelled its name down my arm.

The man at urgent care said,
“You’re very calm.”
I said thank you.
I meant:
I know how to bleed quietly.

The doctor said,
“You’re lucky it didn’t take more.”
And I nodded.
Like that was comfort.
Like that wasn’t a prophecy.

My face folded
like a map that’s been touched
by too many hands,
headed toward too many things
that never happened.

I keep dreaming
the dog comes back.
But not like revenge.
Like confirmation.
He finds me again,
points to the place that never bruised,
and says,
Here. This is where it lives now.
Then opens his mouth
and finishes what he started.

A lost soul
Drifting through this place, searching for a warm door
One that will let her in, to fit in, to lay in
tries its hardest to figure things out, out there
But it’s easy to see
It’s not fair
Not being able to drown in
To smell the scent of this secret sin.

She was the fire
I was the yellow fog lining the skies

Crusting on the window of those ruby eyes
But, my heart never saw the light

Instead, I smoked away her lip-stained cigarettes
Making small banter about our ***

We could pillow talk through the night
Instead, we went ahead and brought up a child

She lit a fire in my soul
We made love, as I poked the coal

Show me a man.
A brave man.
One not brave because of a gun.
Those the weak ones claiming only the title.

Show me a man.
One loyal to the family.
Protector of the house.
Deeply supported by his loving spouse.
****, sounds like my dad.

Show me a man.
Without any weapon his strength shows.
But if push comes to shove he can hold his own.

Honorable in his kid's eyes.
A disciplinary over several times.
Most likely his children didn't follow the rule to fit in.
They know the consequences that lie ahead.

Just show me a man of common sense.

Not one of these clowns searching to be known.
But acts more childish than grown.

I’d like to make sense of this world
or not
maybe with someone
& grow old together
I’d like to keep hope
Even though sometimes
it makes me red at the cheeks
thinking of what isn’t
was
& could be

I’d like to share a bed,
entangling limbs in soft sheets
I’d like to entwine fingers,
warming limbs
I’d like to find love & light

Usually best on a whim

I’d like so many things now
& it makes me feel soft.
Never knew this feeling.
But now I want a home &
A pet
A lover
A friend
A child
& something to call my own.
But, I’m so scared I’m a monster

Unable to hold on to a moment
Feeling in waves; usually a flood
& not everyone is made for the water.
You must be used to the feeling of the unknown & darkness.

I’m learning to breathe

I know how to sail my oceans
But at times the sea entwines
natural & salt
confusing things, but natural nevertheless
I’m also okay with just a feeling
but not fleeting moments
I’m too used to that
I just want forever
Forever is still fleeting
I guess that’s just a problem I’ll have