The *** of a rose is fluid, and pertains to no one.
It curls, and pulls lucid around thorns and dark mahogany bark,
You may be blessed, and see her red face turned to face the sun -
or she may crawl in the undergrowth, shrugging off the *** you gave her and show her floral palms to the dark.
We all desire her velvet powder petals.
We all wish to do as we did as children, and take a hip
between our fingertips -
And crush the sweet, sticky sap from its vessel.
But leave her be, and let her petals rot where they fall
or next year she will not show her face at all.

Feminine being you are intellectual
Don't disregard the pessimism;
let it perceive your strength
You may not be as muscular
as a body builder
but you are strong
Let your hips stride
from side to side
and express the pride
you have inside
Let your roots withstand your ground
for you petals are so profound
Let your nails be the thorns
of protection to the newly born
Let your bright eyes
have men be mesmerised
Let them drown into your soul
which they've now turned cold

YOU DESERVE ADULATION
for your temple is true pulchritude;
be conceit over that
Never let their intolerance
define all your flaws
for that dear brethren
doesn't carry your burden
You gave birth to an infant
from your womb on this land
So demand respect this instant
for you are hiding it in a tomb

I know you're narcissistic
I know you are!
So make this world optimistic
Please feminine being...

The fire danced
in her eyes
again
as she
wiped the tears.

I am a girl, I must be weak,
I must know that men are stronger,
I need reassurance that I should be pretty,
All because I am a daughter.

I am a girl, I must love pink,
I must wear a skirt and a dress,
But not too short or I ‘must’ be a ****,
But of course, a ***** would never impress.

I am a girl, I must be 'asking for it’,
I mustn’t object when I am cat called on the street,
Because 'I have a nice ***’ and 'every man has free speech’
And I must want attention regarding the heels on my feet.

I am a girl and I should be paid less than a man,
I mustn’t be able to do the right amount of work,
I am supposed to have a clean job, such as a nurse,
A baker, or a hotel desk clerk.

I am a girl and this is what I was brought up to believe,
I was taught to be anchored,
To never cross the line between the sexes,
To never deceed the standard.

I am a girl and I am strong,
I will not be stereotyped by a colour,
I will never be your 'eye candy’,
Do not underestimate my gender.

For Eternity I Do promise,
That Each Sentient Woman will become A Goddess,
You may fail and try again,
For Eternity A Woman is my friend,
And I Swear for Eternity,
Each Woman will become A Divinity,
Her Force is Sacred Never Misused,
Safe from pain, never abused,
And One Day it will be our turn,
To Be friends and forever learn,
That A Woman is the most wonderful Being in All Of Creation,
There will never be a greater affirmation,
A Woman is Sacred A Woman is Holy,
To Hurt A Woman is the greatest folly,
To Love Them Like The Sun, To shelter them from the rain.
To Fight for them until none is in pain,
Towards A Woman One must be Honest,
To Love them and treat them like A Goddess,
We must pray as we slay.
And strike all night and day
Until The Great Day where we raise Our Swords,
Female Energy, Our Dear Goddess, The Universe is Yours.

Sometimes the kitchen is on fire before you even turn on the stove.
and maybe it's a small fire,
one you never saw coming.
maybe your absentmindedness caught up with you again and you put foil in the microwave.
maybe no one was there to remind you that sometimes looks are deceiving.
maybe you got used to holding the knife wrong.
which would explain why you found it in your back so many times when all you were trying to do was cut the fat off of his steak.
you just wanted to cut off the parts he never liked.
maybe you weren't holding a knife at all.
maybe that's why his lips bled every time he spat out "I love you too" after a fight.
maybe that was your first mistake.
or maybe your first mistake was trying to use the stove in the first place.
they're dangerous,
and your mom never liked you to do unnecessarily dangerous things.
but where is the line for things that have become necessarily dangerous?
and when did you cross it?
This isn't a metaphor.
I really am afraid of being burned.
I never go out into the sun for too long.
I keep my curling iron on the lowest setting.
it wasn't until you came along that I got in the habit of forgetting such fears.  
Now I have these reckless tendencies.
I'm no longer satisfied with my tan until I can feel the sun poisoning boiling in my skin.
Suddenly my hair no longer curls on the lowest setting, only at 450 degrees.
and I never bother turning it off.
It has an automatic setting.
or maybe you became the automatic setting
when I stopped loving myself to love you
and maybe now that you're gone it doesn't bother me that this setting is gone.
maybe it doesn't bother me if my house goes up in flames.
maybe I'm not afraid of being burned
because the fire never burned me
as bad as you did.
and I just can't seem to remember what is real
and what is simply a figment of you.
I can remember the way the flames felt as they brushed my face,
but never your fingers.
So maybe that is the line where playing with fire becomes necessarily dangerous.
Tell my mom I crossed it years ago.

I.
my roommate is
an extended sigh
she wakes up every morning and
makes French-press coffee,
which is foreign in my household
she has a soft heart,
liked a bruised peach
and when I smoke **** in the evenings
she talks about art house films
over sautéed cucumbers
and I pretend to listen

II.
I read somewhere this morning
that you should replace all your
“I’m sorrys”
with
“thank yous”
like, instead of
“sorry I am such a mess”
it should be
“thank you for loving me unconditionally
thank you for wanting to have my name coat your tongue
thank you for refurbishing my past like an antique dresser”
I haven’t once spoken these words
since being with you

III.
I walked down College without headphones
I could hear my blood’s humming voice
I carried the same three treats I bought with you:
a brownie
a s’mores bar
a Ruffles chip marshmellow square
at Crawford, I could hear you in the box
scratching like a rat
when I got home,
I lit a candle
and ravenously ate you on my bed