how brave she must be
to face her enemies
hands bound behind her back
a rusty lantern levitating before her
setting her eyes ablaze.
don’t let the halo fool you.
She’s no martyr
She’s not heaven sent
or divinely gifted.
she will not knock on your door
and ask your permission
she will make you
pour holy water into her wounds
while screaming in ecstasy,
stretching her hands up to heaven.
she doesn’t believe in god
she doesn’t believe in justice.
she falls asleep fantasizing about self harm
wrists that are opened and then sewn back together
she makes up these scenarios
not as a means of inflicting damage
but as a road to retribution
too long she’s been pushed aside
chopped into pieces and carefully sealed into
thrift shop bags
who wants to buy a sexy, self-destructive no-girl?
who would like to buy an unfinished sentence
echoing into eternity?
this time, she won’t be the hog
tucked in the bag
but the one selling
this is all of me
watch me burn
cast your incantations
fire to smoke to embers to dust
the desire to change is eternal
Sometimes, I accidentally fall
trough the pavement
underneath bundles of clingy vines, cigarette butts and
petrified fossils of chewing gum
the world below is still
but trough the moving sky
and the electrified clouds
I can still hear the screams
of children being pulled into adulthood
women cutting their skin open
and quietly dripping glue into the wounds
at 4 am beneath the kitchen table
Someone told me this was real
a lifetime long wait
at a desolate train station
with nothing but the distorted laughter
of bloated rats to comfort me
I shook my head
nothing makes sense
and the train
won’t stop for me
I’m invisible, caught in between the platforms
like a badly coded game character
in an endless bug loop
wave. stare. and smile?
repeat my assigned lines
Hello would you like some assistance?
It’s time to reset
to be reduced into a noise,
a random code segment floating around
between bliss and agony
into the muffling hand of god
Let me show you my new dress.
It was cheap.
wear and tear-article,
patchwork of crushed hopes
belonging to some little child
in a factory
you made this for me?
now I can stand here, in the roaring crowd
at the eye of the town square
tiptoeing all over the sharp stones of existence
showcasing just how normal, stuck-up and
indifferent I am
But then I bled trough.
It happened quickly.
I didn’t even notice the tear in the fabric
until some kid pointed at my stomach and laughed.
“Look! She’s wounded! She can’t even walk!”
his mother hushed him, dragging him away from me
“We need to be grateful for all we have,” she said.
I scurried home,
tears pouring down my cheeks
I locked myself in my bedroom and spent the rest of the day
wrapping myself up in linens
layer after woven layer,
would cover the fanged hole in me
and stop it from leaking
“Tomorrow,” I whispered to myself, “tomorrow I’ll be prepared.”
It all started out well
I was gliding trough the polished city streets
earning compliments on my exterior,
someone told me they wanted to take me home
slit my throat and fuck my corpse.
what do words mean anyway
An old woman came up to me and asked
just how I’d managed to become
so admirably ignorant
and was about to start explaining the basics of apathy
when I felt the fabric around my hips starting to melt
and the familiar scent of smoke
from underneath my skin
oh, why does everything dissolve like tendrils
like hot wax,
clogging my veins?
Now I am become transparent
the destroyer of contemporary fashion.
with nothing at all to cover my shame
I try out another shirt,
clothe myself in layer after layer,
each one adapting the shape of the previous
there’s no escape
cotton walls are like a bomb ticking around my waist,
reminding me of how much time I have left.
How thick would you like your armor today, Sir?
Make it wool,
make it silk,
or glimmering marble,
so I can be a statue,
a work of art.
Critics can stare,
nod, and pretend they understand what’s going on
as I’m standing naked on the town plaza
wearing the face
I took his saliva and distributed it evenly
over my soaring wounds
I was a harlot again
filthy consolation girl throwing my skin off
for anyone who as much as touched me
But they couldn’t know
what was going on behind my shut eyelids
They didn’t know of the man following me everywhere
Sitting on my shoulders
Sucking on my bruises
They didn’t know he was cruel
they never heard him yell into their heads
things they only speak of in hell
or lower elementary school
Neither could they know
our battle was a long fought one
while he built towers for me
I would sit there
like some fucking Rapunzel, awaiting a savior
or maybe just a momentary relief
a rough canoodle
behind the labyrinth of thorns
someone would come up to me and say
“hey. I like the things you do”
I would be stunned
over how they dared to challenge this monster
whose bare apparition would have turned the noblest knight around
there are, in all honesty, some battles
better left unfought
but I would look up at them and their face would beam
and it was then it hit me
that they couldn’t see him
they didn’t know they’d just stepped up and thrown a rock into a volcano. They didn’t know the glimmering light in which they appeared to be illuminated.
They thought I knew all of this.