we move in easy rhythm hands on waists, movements timed and precise singing in perfect melody as we speak in perfect song the two of us together all along our dance is lovely content and hardly irked one is not without the other, the writer and her work
I should not have been afraid of the fact that I was wearing overalls and my legs were visible I should not have been cursing myself for wearing something so feminine when we all know that the dark likes to swoop in and steal little girls with glitter on their cheeks and red on their lips and devour them whole starting between the legs and ending with her mind
my steps falter hands slip and we step on each other’s toes as we scramble to match the rhythm of others surpassing our songs are cracked and we sing in brutal harmony, a song about the fear of facing mock we are turned upside down the writer and the block
toss back a shot of gasoline and follow it with a long drag smoke billows from the cigarette and into my eyes but when you offer me the blunt I take it without thinking
it seems that the only conversation i can hold these days is A) With Myself B) With The Only True Facts C) With Someone Who Doesn’t Exist and at this point, i'm not so sure that there ever was a correct answer