He’s not
meant
for
      this,
for
      that,

                      ­         for you.

Instead,
he’s meant
       for
      that,
for
      this,

      but
                  not
                                     for you.

If he
wanted to,
then he ****
would.

****
—would've
done
            it
                 ­ for
                            her.

🕳️

You know,
that feeling
when you like a person—
and the person likes you back?

Blissfully
coincidentally.

You know,
this feeling
when a person likes you
and you somehow,
like them back?

Ignorantly
conveniently.

Reciprocally;
reproachable.

🪞

Pour couple drops
of apple cider vinegar,
onto the juicy
and plumpy
fresh meat.

Apple cider,
balsamic.

Anything
that could
wash away
—the taste.

🥩

You know you need a therapist
—when you start
writing
again.

She—
torn up,
locked up,
showed up,
glowed-up,
glazed-up,
laced-up
the corset
that chokes
like a fauxly demure
pink tourniquet,
puppet

she is,
she was,
she’s been.

⛓️
🎀

This digital blot
has been my saviour;
doing me a favour
though shadowed
as someone else’s
labour.

This digital blood
is my waiver.
Marks of trauma;
across my chest
and shoulder.

Digital.
Blot.
Blood.

Analogue?
—demagogue.

🖋️

I used to have a voice—
until I become silenced.