Diving into my insecurities,
Replaying the same mistakes
Unfolding memories from the deepest crease,
Mesmerizing the unforgettable words
Reminiscing over faint situations
Tears trembling down my face,
A wave of nerves tip toe down my spine,

Tearing my mind into pieces
Thoughts are scattering around,
Blemishing the good thoughts
Peeling away the flesh of my sanity,
Revealing layers of my anxiety

Losing sight of what’s right
A misunderstanding of my identity,
A willingness to be distant
From the people I love dearly

The words I don’t yet have are ones to describe my trauma.
Too young to understand what happened, young enough to let it determine the course of my future relationships.
Consent wasn’t part of my vocabulary until I was an adult.
Coercion, drugs, NO...
If I speak these words into the universe, the actions become real, not a figment of my memory.
The trauma of being called a ****, a *****, “giving it up” too soon.
Feeling like a chewed piece of gum, tape that lost its stick, a crumpled piece of paper.
No one wants you if you’ve been used.
An experience for one in five women, yet still taboo.

The words I don’t yet have are ones to describe my queer identity.
Queer and trans but passing as female…
I’ll never “pass” as nonbinary because society sees nothing but male or female.
The struggle of questioning my gender, binding my chest, compressing on my lungs to force out the female.
The hourglass figure with the ******* and fat ***, thick thighs and that extra baby fat;
Female body down to the ******, but without the identity.
The pain of being called a ****, a ******, a “what’s between your legs?”,
having your body scrutinized, looking for your true identity.
Even in the trans community, there’s still a binary.

The words I don’t yet have are ones to describe a better future for us survivors.
The world I want is one where victims aren’t dismissed,
one where perpetrators are held accountable.
A college calendar isn’t proof of where he was that one night.
A president can’t just grab me by the *****.
A college ******’s swim career isn’t ruined because he “made a mistake.”

A radical thought would be to punish white men for their crimes.
I imagine a world where women and survivors don’t have to live with trauma,
don’t have to sit in court and face their perpetrator,
don’t have to relive their experience.
I imagine a world where male survivors aren’t ignored,
one where bisexual women aren’t more likely to experience ****** violence,
one where false accusations aren’t more of a concern than actual assault.

The words I don’t yet have are ones to describe a better future for queers.
The world I want is one where we can feel safe just for existing.
Activism doesn’t stop at marriage equality.
Bisexuality isn’t just “pick a side.”
Transgender people don’t need to disclose about their ****, *****, or other.

A radical thought would be to stop murdering black trans women.
I imagine a world where children are taught about the fluidity of sexuality and gender in school.
A world where parents don’t render their children homeless when they come out.
One where the closet is a place for your clothes, not a place to hide.
I imagine a world where your sexuality isn’t illegal,
where corporations don’t leech onto Pride for advertisement.

The words I don’t yet have are on the tip of my tongue,
but won’t cascade out of my mouth.
These words aren’t as free flowing as a waterfall,
but they’re as stagnant as a polluted lake.
Stuck in my throat, poisoning me,
until one day I scream them out into the void.

There are days that my heart can't take how much pain women are having to carry in their hearts all the **** time. We hold the scars close, digging at them behind closed doors and discussing it in hushed tones.

Our homes are not ours. They're a minefield of memories we'd rather bury with our own walking carcasses.

Then maybe, we'll set ourselves on fire in the hope that maybe, just maybe, we'll be respected in death like Sati.

And then they'll say, "What a brave life she led!"

Or maybe something to the effect of, "Maybe we should have heard her screaming before she even walked into the pyre."

we explored one another,
similar to that of how the seven sins
would explore their vices,
corrupting their virtues.

but that's what made the garden blossom,
grow with intense passion that radiated
with a melancholy glimmer, with a dipped
and ragged vine of sweat and sheen
arousal and desire.

  craving, begging, mewling, whining;

gluttony, craving for the excess
sloth, craving for moments of rest,
envy, craving for a bearing of arousal,
lust, craving for a touch, a sinful taste;
greed, craving the moans and swatches,
wrath, craving for sullen destruction,
pride, craving for the fall of a bereaved apology.


    our garden;
a place of virtues, a place of our vices.
you showed me the deepest things,
darkest epithets of what was to be explored,
blossoming a crimson rose of pure desire
in the pit of my abdomen, vines of thorns
wrapped firmly around my hips
and the soft ashen flesh of my wrists
soon to be accompanied around
the thin circumference of my ankles.
the shark divots soon finding their
way around the swells of my breast,
and the tremble of my inner thighs;
body arching, lips quivering,
ecstacy of your words,
your seed planted garden that
became a part of me.


I found the cardinal sins in
the dropping countenance
of your words, of your demands, and of your wishes,
and i bathed in it,
soaked myself up in the lavender of
your scent, the scratchiness of your thorns.

our garden was the place to cast our sins,
delve into them, and it ruined me,
but oh how I solely craved it.

our encounters, our actions, our experiences
putting even the seven deadly sins to same,
forcing them to turn when catching a glimpse
of us. The swells of their cheeks blossoming
with that of a rose tinted hue.

humanity’s great at ignoring ****** abuse, assault, and ****
but when it happens again, humanity’s mouth is agape
humanity’s great at calling girls ****** and *****
and disregarding people’s burns and cuts
humanity’s great at sneering at lesbians and gays
and watching people starve themselves for days
humanity’s great at letting kids use drugs as an escape
and ignoring all the overdoses that are about to take shape
humanity’s great at ridiculing masculine girls and feminine boys
and playing with people’s minds as if they are mere toys
humanity’s great at starting wars over religion and race
thinking that violence will put people in their place
humanity fights all its battles with no mercy or grace
and when humanity realizes his mistake
don’t expect him to show his face
expect nothing but for him to plead his case
and his excuse is that everyone but him is an utter disgrace
humanity’s great at denying people their rights
humanity’s even better at reading people their last rites
humanity’s the best at acting like nothing’s wrong
humanity’s the best at playing along
when really everything around him is falling apart
but don’t you know, humanity has no heart