There is a woman in Europe who drinks coffee at midnight. She has purple hair, but once upon a time, it was brown and she cut it under the table in first grade and let another girl get in trouble for it. She never said a word, let the guilt eat through her bones at night for weeks.
There is a woman in Ireland who is afraid to drive on the left side of the road, although she once ruled the California freeways in her blue pumpkin-turned-purple carriage. With a negative sense of direction and a never ending supply of menthols, she got lost so many times that she had no choice but to be found.
There is a woman in Galway whose skin is laced with ancient spiderweb scars. Years ago, they were angry, open tubes of crimson paint that children had stomped on when no one was looking. But everything fades, even acrylic paints and ancient pains.
There is a girl in Kinvara who is practically a professional at destroying nice things. She tried her hardest to make something beautiful but she was never much use at creation; better at cremation. Burning, bleeding, bruising-- these are her areas of expertise. She has learned to stop hiding from her secrets and her sins and her skin, that it is okay to be made up of matchsticks. She washes her hands too often, but that's okay, right? There are worse things a girl can do. At least, that's what they tell her…
But she's had enough of the poison they've been trying to sell her.


s.h.

the fist-shaped hole in the wall
the apologies that followed
the bruised and bleeding knuckles
the bathroom littered with plaster wrappers
the sink sizzling with hydrogen peroxide
the empty box of painkillers
the wedding ring thrown to the floor
the little girl who watched through the keyhole


s.h.

little girl with big dreams,
ambition bursting through the seams.
dark chocolate easter egg eyes
cautious whispers, quiet lies

she's a shadow girl, shrouded in grief
from her lips to the tip of her tongue to her teeth.
stucco soul, hardwood heart,
lips together, legs apart.

caught fast in this steel trap,
surrendering to the acid's attack.
she's addicted, obsessive,
it's intrinsic, embedded.

despair, denial, a child reviled
a dark heart of secrets as deep as the nile.
a poisonous princess, a toxic traitor;
three drinks later and she's
south of the equator.


s.h.

more scars than stories,
more guts than glory.
thanks to the reaper's trusty scythe
we carved ourselves a counterfeit life.

cold like the winter, strong like the rain,
stickin' out the summer, we smile through the pain.
so dish it out, i can take it
and if i can't, i can fake it.

don't you move, or i'll pull this trigger;
i may not be fast, but you're small and i'm bigger.
if you can't do it, it can't be done.
i won't change for anyone.


s.h.

the doctors say
i'm not okay
that it's a miracle
i met today
but i take my pills
every night
i sleep and i dream
i wake and i fight
maybe i'm a mess of lights
of leather too tight but
i do alright.

the dog catchers
dangle bones
in front of my cage
but i won't bite.

my skin's a battlefield
my soldiers won't yield
and time has worn holes
in my steel-woven shields.

yet every day, i lace up my shoes
i outfit my army, though i know it will lose
i eat my dinner, i brush my teeth
and i try my hardest
to fall asleep


s.h.

in her lipstick silence, she aches for violence
she will root for kindness, but preaches blindness
deaf, dumb, lean, mean - the whitest teeth you've ever seen -
keeps her nails sharp to make you bleed
she broke her first heart at the age of fourteen
and you could buy her flowers, but she'd rather have the seeds
the roots never show through her bleach-blonde helmet
if you saw the grey, she'd **** you, i bet
but she always lies, it's no surprise-
she is far from what she seems
she is lost and broken dreams

she is the cardboard cut-out queen



s.h.