I cannot be your Loki,
My shoulders are short,
Unable to shelve your blame,
A scapegoat I won’t be.

I have both guilt and shame,
My wolf and my serpent,
They circle my soul,
And with your scorn, swallow me whole.

Look into your mirror of trials.
Look at yourself and say three times -
Am I to blame for this injustice?
Accountability is why Loki smiles.

C’est parce que, dès lors que je touche une note,
J’ai l’impression qu’elle sonne faux.

Parce que je me déteste au moment où je rate un panier,
Un saut d’obstacle,
Un verbe irrégulier.

They told me —
a woman’s hunger
should be poetic,
not physical.
Desire should be folded
into metaphors
and hidden in kitchen drawers
behind cumin and shame.

But my lips
do not write verses
to please you.
They burn with wanting—
not your approval,
but my own arrival
into a body
that I refuse to apologize for.

You called me dangerous
because I asked for more
than survival.

You called me broken
because I moaned without fear
and dared to say
what women were only allowed
to whisper into pillows
after the lights went out.

I am not the fire
that ruined your perfect home.
I am the fire
you lit
and ran from.

I touched myself
and did not shatter.
I confessed to desire
and did not turn to stone.
I spoke of my body
as mine—
and that
made your temples tremble.

You said,
“This is why women are left.”
“This is why marriages die.”
“This is why daughters should be quiet.”
“This is why God gave shame to Eve.”
And I replied—
“No. This is why women are reborn.”

Your disaster
is not my doing.
It is your brittle masculinity
cracking under the weight
of a woman
who refuses to be less.

I lit a lamp inside me,
and you called it a wildfire.
But don’t mistake my flame
for your ruin.
I burn to become — not to destroy.

I read a book about men and anger —
and it clawed into my chest like guilt with teeth.
Not just the loud eruptions,
but the quiet fires I never noticed burning,
the way I smoldered
while pretending I wasn’t heat.

Was I the villain in our ruin?
Is that why I wake up with her face aching behind my eyes?
Why I weeped this morning
from dreaming of her warmth beside me?

Yes, I shouted.
Yes, I shut down.
Yes, I swallowed rage until it poisoned everything we tried to build.
But didn't she light matches too?

She pulled away —
a distance I could feel, even when her skin was close.
Was it all a plan?
was she really “just waiting" to be rid of me?

I wanted forever.
Now all I have is this loop —
the smoking remnants of what was,
what might have been,
what may never come again.

I walk to breathe.
I walk to scream in silence.
I walk to stop myself from picking up the bottle.
From spiraling back into shame’s embrace.

What does it mean when two broken people call each other home?
Was it love? Survival?
Or history?
A scar we made sacred
as she paid the price.

the egg that suddenly cracks,
are the hands that shake
or the ceiling that will flake
and the bone in the break,
train lost off the tracks
relapse of the flash-backs,
soft flesh of t-bone steak,

the summer heat of ice-cream softening,
melts as quickly, internal suffering,
a gush of blood to the side of the neck,
down on his knees with hands gushing red.

you could fry an egg upon his head,
hot is the conscious of his dread,
easy are all the words that were read,
bible says, a sociopath to bleed
If you can't see pain of victims.

I dance to the method death decides,
I don't like my flesh cooked overly dried,
I love it ****** of heart and emotions tally
angel sings, dispersing sorrow and unholy
the trouble shall breed and the fire flames,
unbelievable are the lies of the guilty,
there is a truth to every crime to blame,
wild is the wind and ferocious are the seas
tantalizing is a breeze from undying trees......
If seasons can change then so can we.

I woke up wired, heart beat fast,
told myself this time’s the last.
Lines on the sink, shame in my head,
texted some lies, stayed in bed.

The crash is gone but not the mess,
some days I still can’t catch my breath.
I stay away from what the old me craves,
and that part is still digging its own grave.

There were nights I almost called it quits —
and if the ceiling of my old apartment was strong enough,
I wouldn’t be writing this.

guilt and shame
eating to blame
lack of control
lack of tame
the food comes in
the fat puffs out
if only cold turkey
didn’t sound so good right now