He drawls on
Picks the same three
All male, unlike me
The girls sit in silence
Watching as he
Does the problem
And another he does the next
But never me

I sit there
raising my hand because
When I call out
it's wrong
But when they call out
it's cool

Then I'm told
To participate more
I raise my hand most of the time
I'm called on least of the time

Sexism starts young
When boys expect all the attention
and girls know they will be unheard

When our hands' touch
i feel electricity
run through my veins
like vines turned to ash



and then you pull away
and then you pull away
and then you pull away

tyrannicide is a beautiful word.
it is the felling of a beast.
the anger of the insurgent hordes.
It is just as much the killing of a dictator
as it is
the killing
of a god.
modern tyrannicide
is telling the boy who sits behind me to shove a sock in it,
and not feeling guilty about it.

I would say I miss you,
But that would be a lie right,
same as the lies of “you’re beautiful”
and “I love you” coming out of the lips of men I poured everything into but those were my mistake to mull over. My past for me to dissect. And the hurtful things I told myself, I could take, I was never as cruel to disguise judgement for caring. There was only so much hurt one person could carry,
only so many times I could be cut open by one person and stitched back up to hear them say they fixed me. How many times you’d say you’d fixed me, like I was broken? Like my flaws were factory defects but it was fine, you’d accept me cause you knew you could fix me?
The way you’d make it sound like were a Coldplay song. Like the lyrics and you holding my hand could put back together the pieces of a fragile girl torn apart by too many people. You, my savior, put me in cage, reminded me I could not be trusted to make my own choices, because this naive girl had fallen for too many sweet promises and had bad judgment when making my mistakes and you had to come in and fix me. Like I was a broken car and you a mechanic. Like you came in to sweep me off my feet with duct tape and hot glue. My hero. Came on his white horse to fix me and I’d fall at your feet  because after all, you’d put in all the work, right? You put effort into fixing something no one would love anyways. Something that wasn’t yours to fix in the first place and I’m supposed to be grateful? That you remind me who was there to pick up the pieces of every broken heart? That you remind me I’m not good enough, not smart enough to see when someone is lying to me, to see when I’m being played, but they my  mistakes to make. After all, it was me, crying, alone, throwing up in a McDonald’s bathroom, surviving, putting myself back together and you sweeping in to take all the credit for my work and I’m supposed to apologize for not loving you back the way you put effort into fixing me?

“i’m not sure how long it’s going to last though. we tried to fix things but she’s being so distant recently”

i nod my head

inside that head i’m begging things to fall apart so i can have you

I've been in a marathon-love,
chasing and running until I'm tired.
Too tired to think and too tired to feel
what love really means
cause in the end, there will not be a happy ending.

his white milk-like face,
makes me crave for his sweetness
while I'm swallowing plain water
that I got from the waitress.