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sadgirl Jan 16
mla
somewhere, stars hidden by light pollution.
below, girls huddle. in corners, under couches, behind

headboards of cheap bunk beds. girls become gasoline, votaile
and ready to be ignated with a single flame. at least burn down

the house, at least spit out their lithium into an empty water bottle.
okay. i won't get started on the honda civic. it knows what it did.

bad man. bad desire. bad day to be sadgirl. but here, not hell,
not purgatory. girls can't recall anything, for threat

of severance. here, there is no language for joy,
only cheap rewards and the occasional Sour Patch Kid.

when snow falls we play in it and cry. please, don't
call us imprisoned, call it a next step.

i say my own name when i write.
i go out for pizza and sadly, come back.
Hey guys! back from wilderness. In a hellish place. <3
sadgirl Jul 2018
the girls huddle,
wallflower themselves
away from the bell-toll
of mean-girl chatter

gucci gang comes on,
& a few blood-boys
come out with juul-destoryed lungs
and sip their smuggled *** punch

someone shouts 'begone, thot'
& instead, i vanish,
into summer-stretched air.
you're only young once, &

then there's the in-between
of reunion. the late night fiends stay
until the sun peaks
through the cracks in the

façade of adulthood.
finally, somewhere near
the end of the night,
the intercom comes on.

the superintendent asks us to leave,
the bathroom is filled with brûléed vapor
& the ground has become as much of an ashtray
as the dirtied mouthes of those still dancing,

drunk enough to numb the memories of
the worst three years
of our collective life.
when the chorus of

**** that, *******
fades out,
it's because the system is
crackling again

& everyone's head is turning to the soft voice asking;

where are you now?
what have you done?
are you perfect yet?
They didn't let me read this poem at my middle school talent show.
sadgirl Jun 2018
ain't no disability, i'm a superhero
- kanye west
/
who i am

is a complicated ****-show of

mental illnesses, diagnosed

and medicated to make me able.

according to the kids at school,

i will put you in a chokehold for flexing your double-

jointed finger.
/
autism is strange,

because words hurt more

than you could image.

a few words are no longer spoken

in our household.

freak is one of them.
/
have you ever feared someone

because of rumors?

if you have, then i announce you as an enemy,

so let's duel with choppy movements

and irrational fingers.

/
school is out,

and i'm thinking that

who i am

is a  delicate ****-show of

who i want to be
Is she gon' make it, TBD, huh.
sadgirl May 2018
i have done it again
once a day,
lean

a sort of walking miracle, my skin,
look at my wrist, about ten
my *******

a paperweight
my body clothed in supreme
and bape

peel off the layers of autotune
do i terrify?
or do the rooftops i jump from come back to haunt me?

the wide nose, the pink and blonde
the dilated eyes
all vanish within a recording session

soon, soon the skin
the thots, the tricks
they will be at home on me

and i, a frowning man
only sixteen
and like the cat, i have nine times to live

this is my last leg,
what trash
what lies we tell

with a million filaments of light
the xanax-crushing crowd
stops for one ******* second

and looks down at the stage
the beat starts, my mouth is powder dry
ladies and gentleman

these are my tattoos,
my war paint,
i may be skin and bones

nevertheless, i am far from who i once was
the first time i drank lean, i was ten
my brother dared me

the second time i meant it,
some way to escape
and become liquid
over beats

when i drank too much, they had to call and call
and wash the ***** off me like bloodthirsty leeches
singing/rapping/living

is an art
and like everything else, i do it way too well
i do it so it feels like midnight

i do it so it feels so real
i guess you could say i’m dope
it’s easy enough to loose hope

it’s easy enough to go crazy waiting for fame
but fame comes, and it plays games
come back with me,

to the same place, the same face,
the same dreaming eyes of a high woman
an amused shout,

get out of here, eskeetit
but there is always a change
for the touching of my hair, there is a change

inside, for the eying of my new gucci sneakers
there is a change inside, that rarely goes outside
and there is a change, a really big change

for any pill or drink
or drug
or a strip of fur or silk that i wear with pride

so, so my child, unborn within a groupie
so, my enemy behind a mic or a show curtain
i am your high

i am everything you ever wanted
the pure silver bullet
that melts with no bang or pop

i turn and burn
do not forget, mama’s still concerned
and and

you push and pull
xannies and perkies, there nothing there
a red stripe

across a wrist with
a broken whiskey bottle.
my mother, my father

remember?
remember?

out of the bitter smoke
i rise with rainbow hair
and i devour pills like air
A riff on Sylvia Plath's poem, Lady Lazarus.
sadgirl May 2018
//
yr gun does not reach me,
so u make black boxes.
not like the ones lost at sea.
//
we all can be pretty at least once,
even with dangling nerves,
even with blood dribbling down our chins
//
we live in the sunken place.
try to stay awake, but it's too easy
to fall asleep.
//
i like to think i have wings.
cuz i swear, i swear they're somewhere on my back.
but maybe they took those too.
//
if we was still alive, while the swallowed us whole,
would we fight or flight?
i heard a story about one us of, who didn't drown.
//
i could touch the sun and fly with my not-wings
to a place better than this. can i drown
too?
//

we all can be beautiful.
cuz i tried so hard
to make this place safe.
race and birds.
sadgirl May 2018
in dream-light, still
                    you are incredibly wasteful
syrup-mauve soaked,
                  you drank whatever
cared enough to ferment
                    itself.
the entire fester-rot of
                    flesh growing & decaying
with time & ****** fingers
                                       believe in yourself,
& see where it gets
                      you
a little poem about humans and hope.
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