this air sings with bitter
colors;
empty widows speak with
mouth-fulls of leaves,
swallowing letter by letter myself
as branches scrape open the sky.
we pause to listen
in a fit of stop-motion bliss;
men's voices are stifled,
entitlement replacing tongues with thousands of
needy hands grabbing at the things that
!god said should be theirs for
utter confusion and a complete lack of
simple recognition.

i am sitting on the ground,
my face
buried in sunlight
atop a mound of cigarette ashes that
never belonged
to me. my goal is:
to fix the gaping wound in
my back (too young, fragile,
lost- a woman, hyperindividualisticoverlysensitivecombativebleedingand controlled_

there are fumes released in every lashing,
(andyouknowitsowelltoo)
smiling criticism to the leaves and the sparrows
leaving me compliant every time because i can't know
what is right for me, a
lost child on a leash fighting a vaginal curse,
shrouded in weakness and the cause of weakness
among men...
femme fatale, blindly terrorizing gender dominance.

perhaps there is more for me here;

(ihavea vile of
acid in my bedsidetable
begging me for self-discovery
and to finally bloom). stretch my arms in solitude and
sleep for a while.