i come from a long line of muses.
beauty contests won by bribery
and bravery. i was taught that the
way to a man’s heart is through
the ******* ribcage. there is no time
to play house. the daughter of dimitra,
i’ll take a pomegranate martini and
6 months in hell. you said you had a
nightmare that i would **** you in your
sleep. my darling, i only want to make
your dreams come true.

His liver, My heart
The true torture is not in the breaking,
But in the knowledge that you will become whole again,
Only to feel them rip your organs out again.
He stole fire
I loved the wrong people in the wrong way
Neither of us deserves our punishments
But we can't bring ourselves to regret our crimes

The trees look like statues
And we're on a roller coaster ride.
We go fast
Because it is a race -
I think we're going to win!
I think were going to win!
The other cars will be sad,
With their people inside.
Go faster Daddy!
Go faster.

The end is like a wall.

I hate you when you catcall her
I feel the anger rise, tightly coiled in my stomach
Clench my fists and feel my blood pound,
Because I know what you do to her,
Reducing her to her body, just for your pleasure.
To you she is only a body, just another opportunity to prove
your manliness, your superiority.
Just another girl to humiliate.
I know this and my rage roars, a dragon, untamable
ready to tear into you the second you try it with me.

But then as I walk pass, the voices are silent.
No calls, no whistles,
I don't exist.
The dragon within me becomes confused,
am I really so ugly, so unwanted, so plain,
that the **** on the streets, the ******* who harass girls as they walk,
won't even look at me?
What's wrong with me?
The dragon fades and a new type of hate arises.
I hate myself, my stupid hair, my ******* up jaw, my plain appearance.
I should feel lucky for the blessed silence, the peaceful walk,
but instead I feel a nauseating sense of shame and hate for myself,
As I tuck my head down like a good girl and hurry home,
Trying not to cry.

Society has turned being harassed as a goal to reach for.
Keep telling us "it's a compliment"
And sooner or later we'll start to believe it.
But that doesn't make it true.

So I sit sharping my nails, not sure whose throat to rip out,
Yours? Or mine?
Because you've told me,
It's not ladylike for me to hate anyone,
Except myself.

I hear her sobs from the bathroom.
She tries to cover them up,
burying her face in a towel.
I sit on the couch,
let her tears become the background for my evening.
Later, when she leaves the bathroom,
I'll pretend that I don't notice,
how her mascara has run and her eyes are all red.
We'll sit on the couch and share a bowl of popcorn,
Because I know she hears me too.