tender, soft kisses
clasped, cold hands
the warmth of your breath against my neck
the blue of your eyes
the sound of your voice
the taste of your lips
darling, you don't understand how badly I crave you

A

My little grey dress
The day is almost coming

The dress is so plain
No rain

But when I have to go
Don't cry my love

My pretty
Pink lips painted
My hair not combed
But messy

The night was made to cry
Because there's no light

My time is coming
And yet I can feel
The sunrise as well

I feel that maybe the only way for people to take me seriously is to actually do it.

That it will finally validate my sadness and finally it wouldn't just be 'all in my head.'

Maybe then people will feel their obligation.

It was in the tilt of
his crooked smile
I left a piece of
myself in

It was in the
crinkles by his eyes
I left a piece of
myself in

It was in the
slight dip of his collarbone
I left a piece of
myself in


Every part of my soul
shattered,
the pieces scattered
all over the
boy I once called
mine

But how was I supposed to know
he was the hurricane
when he looked like
morning rain.

Its funny,
you calling me
“good girl.”

Hands running
down my thighs
and
your lips
leaving saliva,
sticky little white lies.

My back arched
and my eyes closed,
pretending.

I’m this
******
up
feminist.

But tell me,
what to do
when you assume
because we kiss
your hands
have any place
on MY body.

And tell me how,
you wish
for me
to be
your'
“good girl”
when you have yet
to ask
if it’s okay
that you are already
sticking your fingers
inside of me.

what am I doing here?

the butterfly asked
as she looked around the chrysalis
she thought she’d left behind

how can so little change in so much time?
what am I doing here?

the butterfly questioned
as she struggled to take flight
a flight she’d mastered many times before

how can so much change in so little time?
what am I doing here?

she asked herself
as she felt her form change once again
and found that she was a caterpillar, wondering

am I still able fly?