keep her clenched in your fist for an hour
she'll give in
cramped places
do that to people
kick her hard
while she lies
in front of you
baring her innocence
she'll give up
and that's what you want
you want submittance
admittance
of futility
you want her to say
that she knew she couldn't win
that she couldn't fight
that she knew you'd win
you want her to admit

that she is
lesser

it's not going happen.
i won't admit anything to you
out my ****** teeth
you try so hard to hurt me
you go out of your way
you're a blowhard,
and i am not less than you
you are just hot air
i am solid
i am not
less than

I didn’t see the moss at the foot of the white-clad border walls
because I was holding you by the edges,
so to not crease, rip or crinkle you.

The road is always long, but this street
takes the ****. The same trees grow and repeat,
twisting up into great nothings acting as a canopy,
but not quite pulling it off as the rain broke through.

You looked comfortless in my arms, as though you’d
rather be somewhere different in a lot less clothing, and asleep
waking to a familiar ceiling nearer to the weekend than this weekday
in May.

Sometimes, if the wind is right and ushered correctly,
the crane lights of the night highlight that moss
and only those searching will be aware that
it lives at the bottom of a white-clad border wall
just over there.

i look at myself in the mirror
and i see a red-haired leopard
with man-eating eyes
that are smudged with left-over eyeliner
from a night-out with the elitists

i see silky, curly red hair
that people so often
get entwined in
thinking that this is the reason
for the things i do

in the mirror my lips are a beautiful snarl
and my freckles,
camouflage for the jungle i creep in  
my nose,
a defining arc

reflected back at me,
a red-haired leopard
in a concrete jungle
doesn't belong here
got put in a zoo
on accident
a red-haired leopard
looking for escape
from inside of me

they'll try to tell you
that mirrors lie
but they
don't

i'm really not that fat.
but i put myself under a microscope
and the closer i look
the bigger i get
some nice girls gave it to me
and some nice boys lended me
the lens
i am a scientist
i study the anatomy
of lilred
who is apparently
not
so
little

baby,
your hip bones aren't supposed to be sticking out
your ribs aren't supposed to either
they pump you full of pictures
of skeleton girls in cute bikinis
and weight loss tips
and though you always think "don't let it get to you, they're wrong"
it gets in your head.
because all the boys commenting on the photos say they'd totally ride her
long and hard
and all the comments on the girl who's slightly overweight
involves comparisons to cows
and you're so soaked in social media
that you can't help but see it
and all the girls commenting on how that's all they
want

but if all you want from life is to be "slightly sick"
to eat things and then puke them up
or not eat at all
you will never be satisfied
because you are feeding a hunger that does not go away
you lose the ability to judge how skinny
is too skinny
how pretty
is too pretty
after all, they are
the same
thing...

baby,
stop looking at those pictures.
stop reading those comments.
stop letting a pornographic generation of boys
tell you that ****** appeal is all you're worth.
start saying to yourself
i am not on the same level as a pornstar
because that is unrealistic
because **** is make believe
with plastic barbie dolls
to set the scene....
baby,
pretty isn't skinny
like pretty isn't fat
WE KNOW WHAT PRETTY REALLY IS

....we just ignore that fact.

i did wrong by you
too many times
to count
and now
when i want so much to do right
you want nothing to do with me
i am sorry for sewing you a patchwork heart

(pop pills
like you used to pop balloons as a child
eyes closed
tentative hands
face turned away
scared
of the explosion that follows)

they say you used to be so pretty
healthy, thick red hair with gold hightlights
bright blue eyes with brown around the pupil
lips that dispelled depression
with their curves

now they ask you why your hair
feels dead like a barbie doll's
why your eyes don't smile
why your lips curve
in a different direction

they ask you why you're alone
where's the boyfriend?
like that's some sort of
validation

so many different answers to one question
"so what're you up to this semester?"
i'm
trying to figure things out
hoping to transfer
taking a gap year
...again
hell i don't know
i'm just
******* around

are you ok
they keep asking
i laugh it off
"i'm awesome
how's the boyfriend
girlfriend
semester?"

(the ache in my head has made me mean
my birth was my validation
i don't need you)