dear little girls,

who taught you to open your legs before opening your mouth?
who taught you that the only use for a woman's lips is anything other than speaking her mind?
who taught you that women who say "leave me alone" are worth less than those who say "yes, daddy"?
who taught you that the fire behind your eyes should be snuffed out?

Those people are the worst teachers who little girls like you are learning the most from.
I say, look those people in the face and say "*******."

That flame behind those fierce eyes of yours?
If it will set the world ablaze, I say let it.
I say let gasoline fall like rain.
I say dance in the ashes of the world that thought it was fireproof.
I say
Let.
It.
Burn.

why does everyone say
that we must try to love each other
by overcoming our differences?
we should love each other,
not in spite of our differences,
but because of them

If I sit on my roof
and block out the light from my house,
I can forget that I exist.
I can swim among the constellations
and lose myself in the bittersweet triviality
of our existence.
I can break free from the intoxication
of my life wasted on autopilot.
I can pretend that I am merely thoughts,
free of the weight of a life
and of society
and of reality.
I can question things
and depersonalize
and forget this anchor of a body
and all its bitter consequences.
But,
for now,
all I can do
is lay beneath the stars
and forget.

ok chokehold.

i wish to go camping and build
my fire under your crows wing
attitude. i wish to have children
and hide them away from dust
in the cleanest vases. i wish to
explain to you the circumferential
crappiness, the why you will not
take me seriously on any other
than a rainy day. throwing is like
reverse grabbing, reverse grabbing
the chandelier. every word we
speak is crossing a line. a line that
is only my line, a line you never
knew existed. it is red. it is colored
somewhere
i want to be. it is the burgundy
of your mouth bending w/ speech,
it is the donation of O neg and
the blistered heels of your feet
stomping on my heart through
my vest of sequins. no, not stop
ing. morse code on my 3D love
poem, don't ya know?

coffee is done, suit is irony and my
jeans are cut into my favorite story
about a man
and a woman
and the lake they drained
when they became thirsty.

In the quiet hours
before the sun,
I shed a thousand
layers of you.
Dead, heavy skins
flutter to the ground
to decorate my ankles,
until suddenly,
I’m light.
So light that I float
and, as I rise,
breathe in
the whole universe.
I see colors—
new to my eyes.
I feel safe here,
knowing there is
no happiness
like mine.