Aftertaste
Clothespin Fantasy
I am pinned to my
bed by the smell of you
There's a clothespin pinched on each of my feelings
hanging them out to dry, for you to see
my dirtiest fantasies
of you, pinning me to my bed
There's a clothespin pinched on each of my feelings
hanging them out to dry, for you to see
my dirtiest fantasies
of you, pinning me to my bed
calling me baby
making me love
the way you fervently
the way you fervently
love my body raw,
grinding
your broken insides
against mine.
Still—it's friction, electric
shock to my system, sparking
a trembling question I don’t know
shock to my system, sparking
a trembling question I don’t know
if I should ask—
Touching
is not love, you say, as
you skim a hand up my thigh, and I immediately want
to take the clothespin off my feelings
you skim a hand up my thigh, and I immediately want
to take the clothespin off my feelings
Aftertaste
of Sugar
I saw him sitting in a sweet-smelling coffee shop
filled to bursting
with iced cakes sitting pretty
behind glittering
cases and decadent pastries lounging
on display,
drunk on their own sugar.
Beginnings are
sweet:
peach sunsets and butterfly kisses,
peach sunsets and butterfly kisses,
sand in our clothes
from lying entwined
on twilight beaches,
moments my heart felt soft
as his lips
brushing against my forehead
It was
too sweet,
if you ask me
Shoulda known
how sick to my stomach
I would be
Said he doesn’t want to fall in love, because
home is where the heart is
and he can’t build
a home in a woman
whose heart is too
heated to be anything
but a fire hazard.
It was in the
aftertaste of heartache that I understood
endings are never sweet
like the beginning
when we met as fortuitous accident
in a sweet-smelling
coffee shopwhen we met as fortuitous accident
A Caricature of Womanhood
He tells me I
have a pretty cunt and says he loves me right after
Love can be
complicated, but I don’t understand why
every man
I’ve dated has the same greasy fetish
for
force-feeding me ripe strawberries that taste like sour milk.
The cruel
ones walk like royalty and absentmindedly
tell me I’m
beautiful, like that is consolation
for not
responding to my texts.
Before we
have sex, they always ask
if they can
leave a collar of lavender handprints
around my
throat.
At least they
asked.
Owning things
turns them on
—if only they
would own up
to shearing
shards off my innocence, but
these men
grew out of the silk-haired baby boys
who giggle
and grin when they break their toys.
After sex, I contour
the shit out of my shame
to the watery
strains of Tchaikovsky and think
I am a
caricature of the beauty men want;
they are the
reason I am convinced
womanhood is just
a sage euphemism
for
developing tits.
Sweaty
I’ve got my hands sticky
with soft-hearted feelings for
with soft-hearted feelings for
your smile—I don't
want to remember it
as the distance separating us
as the distance separating us
I Can't Meet You Halfway
Men admire my
mind, find it fascinating
enough to be entertaining, but not
the
way my fireenough to be entertaining, but not
coloured hair conceals an inferno
simmering beneath
They never see the scarlet sign to stop,
never even proceed with caution.
He made the tangled thoughts running
through my head run even. I owe him
the reason all those lines crumbled
and why I fake laugh so hard I wilt
I wish I could ask him how it feels
to love someone halfway
Frenetic Geometry
My curves fit against your edges like
circles
falling in love with triangles
I
guess we were two differentshapes bent too much out of shape
to fit together
Wallflower in
Concrete
I feel like a
wallflower someone tried to plant in concrete
If there is a God, I want to ask why
He made me this way when there's no cure
for too much love and I’m tired of apologizing
If there is a God, I want to ask why
He made me this way when there's no cure
for too much love and I’m tired of apologizing
for loving blindly
at breakneck speed,
even though I
know I will crash
and burn
again
again
I thought I didn't have to do this
again: shield myself from breaking
piece by piece, especially when
other than too full of love and lonely
for another to see me, because no one ever has
wanted to spend their time on a wallflower
stuck in concrete
Black and White (bruising)
Black
-
I carve your kisses out of my skin
because I
fucking
hate you
for turning my body into a series of borders undefined, forcing me
hate you
for turning my body into a series of borders undefined, forcing me
into this
losing battle to crawl my way out of the deep end
of love while half-heartedly waiting for you to say something
that will touch me deeper
than just the feeling of your fingers on my skin.
You say nothing, so I feel nothing
but the outline of your body
weighing down your side of my bed. You once said
I am too "black and white", not understanding
I love with all or nothing and all I wanted
was
for you to break through your selfish wallsof love while half-heartedly waiting for you to say something
that will touch me deeper
than just the feeling of your fingers on my skin.
You say nothing, so I feel nothing
but the outline of your body
weighing down your side of my bed. You once said
I am too "black and white", not understanding
I love with all or nothing and all I wanted
and say you love me, too
Required for Reading: Rose-tinted Glasses
I think about you so much that my thoughts have begun to solidify
you called my insides rose-coloured and
you’re right—
I water my pain with pink wine
and spew flowery words
about how my insides wilt
each time you look at me
dispassionately, even though
I wonder how much I love you
because your absence will be pain
I can live through
Losing You Just Feels So Bad
I don’t know why so many things seem filled with the intent
of being lost. I lose something everyday:
bobby pins and multiple opportunities
to tell you I love you. I’m good at losing things
so I gave you bread crumbs to find your way back to me
(even though
I know this won’t bring you back)
Thoughts of you keep me up because I drink
my feelings out of my coffee cup. It’s 3 a.m.
and a little voice inside of me is saying
I miss you
but I know it’s not a disaster
Losing you won’t be too hard
because I’ve mastered the art of losing things
of being lost. I lose something everyday:
bobby pins and multiple opportunities
to tell you I love you. I’m good at losing things
so I gave you bread crumbs to find your way back to me
(even though
I know this won’t bring you back)
Thoughts of you keep me up because I drink
my feelings out of my coffee cup. It’s 3 a.m.
and a little voice inside of me is saying
I miss you
but I know it’s not a disaster
Losing you won’t be too hard
because I’ve mastered the art of losing things
Pillow Thoughts
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