SUN GIRLS: sun-kissed goddesses, some a little darker than others because the sun loves them just a little bit more, writes poetry sitting outside a local coffee shop, always happy all the time, loves the color yellow, wears mom jeans and tucked in t-shirts all the time, is soft and loves love, long hair, mostly in braids or ponytails.

MOON GIRLS: dark circles under their eyes, parties a lot, drinks to forget their heartbreak, red lipstick and black eyeshadow, sleepless nights accompanied by anxiety, owns over 20 different leather jackets, loves adrenaline, risk-taker, a smoker, strong smell of cigarettes and mint gum, smirks a lot, flirty, secretly likes sun girls

my mother taught me how to work the dirt,
grub it between palms, savor the smells of chickenshit, and
raw flesh. she knows that crops are grown fifty-fifty,

a little coddling, a little resentment. look at the thing
crawling out of your leaking womb, purpled with lacking.
she taught me how to heal, let my body mend itself with

time. when i was born, the salt of my mother clouded around my
eyes. they broke me to let me live, and so forth. but i have never
stopped with the needing. i became a **** in the dirt i worked.

empty, glad with unwanting. i wanted to spread my branches and show my mother the world she forgot. i remember. i remember.
but my chants fell upon deaf ears. my prose too purpled to read.

if you can bring nothing to this dirt
but another dead body,
this is not a garden for you.

Clinking cutlery and stomping feet
Shuffling of the seats
Laughs and cries of " I won, I won! "
Adults outside playing ping pong
There's music and dancing
Little girls prancing
Baby boys playing with their toys

Nothing unusual to them
The usual birthday party fun
But not for the girl in the corner
Crying on the floor
Her hands covering her ears
In a usual birthday party