Ode to Mrs Slovenly....
Mr ScratchyRainbow hues brushed asideDark thoughts furtively enticingExalt;'Enbrace me!'Damp sheetsVeil conscious thought,dappled vigin lightRecessed shadows running tandemContradict the here and now.Waking dreams leach my willDumped almost lifeless on the floor,pillowsScattered,comfort lost.Struggling weakly to my kneesTender,gravel peppered palmsEnrage.Anger swells my tongue asCarrion creatures jostleExcitement builds,theyScreech and peck in mountingFrenzy.Bruised and bloodiedAccepting of my fateDull ringing echoes,skullBludgeoned from inside:Then.Silence.Intensly bright,white paperCauterizes emotion,staringBlankly i paint myself aMask and call himMr. Scratchy.His long armsFlailing awkwardly,knots in stringPropel the ungainly-Unbalanced as i am by you,Buried somewhere inside meToying with my metal plated heart,iStruggle,shove you hard'Back in your box!'Naughty Twinkle Toes.Valiantly,down the yearsAttrition was your sword,randomVictories grudgingly acknowleged
Yes, I Have a PenisYes, I Have A PenisDo not assume (if I hold the door for you),that I am making a statementabout your inabilitiesto open the door for yourself.If you hold it for me,I'll say 'thankyou'.Do not assume (if I pay for the meal),that I am underestimatingyour earning capacityas a woman.If you invite me out for a meal,you're paying.Do not assume (if I defend your rights),that I am belittlingthe attempts that you have madeto defend your rights yourself.If you defend my rights,I'll consider you human.
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one. When she cries herself to sleep six out of seven nights a week you must say nothing. You must simply take her in your arms and kiss her gaunt, pale cheeks and wait for her to slumber at the sound of your heart.two. On the days where she wishes she were part of the stars, tell her no. Tell her that there are too many lights in the sky and that just one would be forgotten the moment you looked away from it. Tell her that she is perfect the way she is: completely human.three. Don't let her think about the scars that no one but her can see. If she says "I think I'm broken" smile like you know a secret and say, "No, you're mending." But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
For Every GirlFor every girl who was a ‘bitch’ ‘cause she said no to a boyFor every girl who was a ‘slut’ ‘cause she said yesFor every girl who was an object ‘cause she had titsFor every girl who couldn’t wear that ‘cause boys can’t control themselvesFor every girl who was ‘asking for it’ ‘cause she wore a short skirtFor every girl who was a ‘prude’ ‘cause she wore a long oneFor every girl who was a ‘challenge’ ‘cause she liked other girlsFor every girl who was ‘easy’ ‘cause she liked bothFor every girl who nobody heard ‘cause she didn’t have a dick (or maybe because she did)For every girl who everyone ignored ‘cause she was ‘on her period’For every girl who was ‘fat’ ‘cause she had dessertFor every girl who was ‘anorexic’ ‘cause she didn’tFor every girl who was ‘insecure’
Our generationcigarette smokeandalcoholthe fumesembeddingin the wallcocaine linesin bathroomstalls:our generation,we have it allmisguided teens,with dying dreams(poured down the drainby languid veins)the clinking of glassesand racing hearts,we cannot stopwhat we did startit's all an escape- a sick paradox:we're runningfrom ourselves.
One, two, threeMy boyfriend watched, open mouthedas I unscrewed the lid of your urn,and ran my fingers through your ashes.Your depression, your soul dust.I felt nothing other thanan ocean roiling beneath my ribs,and an urge to hold the brass ossuary,and rock you back and forthlike you did for me when I was young.-At the funeral, my uncle announcedthat you despised religion.But he left out the partwhere you did believe in a God,just that he was always punishing you.-“There was nothing you could have done”said the other uncle.I think of all those spent wishes,the birthday candles extinguished for gifts,the meteor showers I wasted on love,the prayers offered from family friendsthat are now given a little too late.-This year, I turn 22 years old.But when I blow out the candles,my wish won’t matter.None of them did.
We've neglected the lessonsour generationhas stomped on the gravesof our ancient ancestor's bodiesburied deep beneath muted earth tones,and we've dug up their bonesand thrown them against cavern walls,do you hear their beckoning calls?we told youwe told youwe told you alland our generationhas sold our soul to the devilbecause the devil wears Prada, Moschino, or Coach,the devil doesn't care about thegrumbling tummies of our skeleton childrenor their parched tongues,can you hear their bones rattling like our ancestors?do you hear their echoing calls? we told youwe told youwe told you all our generation sayswe march to the beat of our own drumbut it seems we stole this drumfrom the old man at the music shopwho couldn't make enough to pay for his own skin,to cover his crumbling bonesor maybe we've built this drum from his ashes,because of what use are old men,whose bodies could have been in an antique shopis that the beat of the drum, or a whimpering call? we told you