You quickly approach
A puddle of mud
Small enough to step over
But you thought it'd be fun
To splish and splash
And make a mess
But it's dirtied your face
And ruined your dress

You stomp out of the puddle
It has ruined your day
You look back in anger
And head on your way

But what is to blame here,
The action or trouble?
The mud or the splashes?
The person or puddle?

Don't walk into mud
Then complain of the mess
If you want to stay clean
Just watch where you step

Not all, but many outcomes
Are up to us
So be careful that your actions
Will lead to what you want

I traded ***** pixels, sold my soul
for a bathtub full of this cold city water,
to let it dampen the dissonance between the long talks, screams, and silence and
wash my memory clean.

I severed what I just ****** could not untie and floated north
to be lifted to the sky-island rooftops and above and
finally feel light.

Instead, my skin is crumpling like trash and
still I find my fingers crawling down my throat,
depressing,
the only way I know how to release
all the things I swallow whole
and let sink without bubbles.

I spend my nights scrubbing my skin raw to rid myself of the filth your hands left on my hips. I cannot cleanse my body of the places your lips caressed. I cannot turn back time and erase every moment of pleasure that ultimately changed the way people view me. When they look at me they should see who I am not who has put their hands on me. I am not a lesser being because I have been touched. I refuse to sit back and be labeled as a impure while you get praised for the same action. I refuse to succumb to sexist values. I will not tolerate being treated this way. The shame you and others have put on me ends here.

i killed a gnat on my shirt today
and now he sits there dead
next to a hole
which is starting to look
more and more
like his twin brother.
both black spots reminding me
of the ***** dishes and laundry
and the difference between dogs
in the city and country.