Stink bugs sit on the toilet seat

Their fat bodies hide in the shadow cast by a bar of soap

Thumping against the mirror, the light bulb

Hiding in cabinets

Waiting for me, dead on counters

Floating bloated.
Life aborted.
Rotting sockets.
A bobbing lifeless buoy.
where the river meets
the sewage.

To the man with the comb-over,
I resent you.
For the way you talk about women,
Speaking of us like property,
For taking away our choice,
Of if we want to conceive.

To the man with the loud mouth,
I ignore you.
For shooting down people’s words,
Putting a lock on their mouth,
And interrupting them with your nasally
“Wrong”.

To the man with the twisted morals,
I abhor you.
For the families pushed out of the country,
By the wall in your heart
And the one you want for your country.

To the man with all of the power,
I fear you.
For the lies you tell,
You reek of deceit.
For how you make war,
Or peace, if that’s what you want to call it.

Roanoke is like webbed toes; really weird but in a way that makes you wanna cough or throw up if you look too close

There’s a pile of orange cat ***** on the sofa
whose back has been stapled and thumb-tacked
onto the framework it’s, where it peeled.

There’s clumps of dog hair like dusty black clouds
clinging to the stairwell corners.  Dog *****, cat *****
and miscellaneous other stains splotch the gray carpet.

There’s windows coated in years of gunk.  There’s a child
whose life has been shattered and carries on with a
tablet.  Chickens roam and **** on the deck.  

I don’t emerge.  My room is half-painted, hot, and dark.
I don’t emerge from my cage.  Litter boxes overfilled out
there.  Hate out there.  The air is heavy and thick.

Feeling the fat upon myself, is a pain I'd always known
I look in the mirror and wish I could see my collarbones.
I want to be that girl who's thin and beautiful.
But instead I'm the one with big thighs and that's inexcusable.
I hope one day to be the skinny girl I know that's inside me.
The girl with her collarbones, everyone can see.

Oozing goozing syrup drips from you lips
It disgusts me
With each drip a lie unfolds
Your sugared teeth as yellow as corn.
Dripping, slipping, slurping.
Your smile disgusts me.
As the ooze starts to fall from you cheeks.
And I glance at that sick smile
I can feel my head spinning
My teeth aching from your sick twisted smile.

The sweetness is not like chocolate. No.
It's the sweetness of swallowing honey with a dry mouth.
It stays with you.
Nothing to wash it down

Your smile gives me cavities,
that hurt almost as much as you do.

And I still think about you sitting pretty in that skin ******* shirt
The one with the holes in it, reminiscent of the holes in my skin
Reveal my boiling blood work and fragile spine
Eyes glued to the floor wondering what it would be like to be called 'mine'
and you're there on the couch wrapped up in deep brown talking **** to the pretty girl next to you
And I'm over here on my own knowing better than to try to make a move
When you're already preoccupied with someone else
I know I'm better by myself
Now it's nearly two months out and I'm watching you on a tiny screen in my room
Long limbs draped artfully over a guitar feet dangling in the pool tattoos indistinguishable in the evening gloom
And I wonder what it's like in your world
I wonder what it's like in your head
If it's raining or snowing or if you're choking on what you should have said
So now I'm slightly intoxicated on my back in my sheets
Praying for some sign of rain or some subtle relief
From switch screen wanting I don't even want any of you
I don't know you I don't trust you I don't know what you do
I know an idea
better left by itself
Better left alone so I can be by myself
Not for anyone else
Just me in my own skin
And you're a casualty of my sober vivid mind
An empty grave I don't want to find
An ocean packed with a thousand words better left unsaid
A persistent reminder of the emptiness of my bed
And in my dreams I'll move closer to you
I'll take hold of your calloused hand
But as I wake I know I'll run far from you
Because I'll never belong to any man
And hey I could be the tattoo on your left arm
Wrapped tight around your bones
Hey I could be the ice in your glass
But you will never be my home
No I'd rather be alone