I think I’ve always defined myself by masculine energies. Whether that be the absence of them, my father, or the presence of them, my strength. I find it rather peculiar in fact that I am so drawn to masculinity. I have defined myself by what you could call, almost, a militant feminine energy. I like being the epitome of the girl I am. The problem is figuring out what kind of girl that is. That’s my point though. I think I may be every girl. I think every girl may be me.
I think that every girl is magic. That every single one of us could be the innocent princess or the evil queen in your little sister’s story books. That every single one of us could be both and maybe even the prince. I have come to terms with the fact that I have trapped myself in a tower for being too beautiful. I have come to terms with the fact that there is no beautiful blonde boy in a muscle car that’s going to unlock these chains. I have come to terms with the fact that my prince lives inside of me, and she is ravenous, strong, and ugly. She has a skeleton built from my bruises and teeth made of razorblades….and I love her very much. I think you should love all the girl parts of you too. You never know which one you’re going to need tomorrow.
A (K)night In Four Parts
1. you saw that i wear 3 rings.
one for each of the demons inside me.
you looked each one over and made me
take all of them off before we fucked.
2. you coughed when you told
me i made you feel safer than
anything in your whole life. i
couldn’t help thinking about all
the boys who died fast asleep
in houses full of carbon monoxide.
3. there’s a mole on the back of your neck
that matches the one on my shoulder.
they both look like healed over
they both might very well be.
4. sheets tangle around you very
easily. like they want to encapsulate
your warmth. my mattress is bare for
a reason, darling.
The Monsters’ Monsters
Circe has no gods or kings, but the ones that live by her wand,
and in forgotten books that she only reads by moonlight to keep
the fires of bitterness burning. She was a daughter and a wife, but
now she is something children fear at night. That is enough magic
for any Sorceress.
Charybdis has taken up residence in her own stomach, drinking in,
bringing up, so that no man will cross her or even dare look at her again.
No one ever cared to tell her that the demons of a sea monster
can’t be drowned, but that does not mean she won’t try.
Leucosia has tied herself to the ship’s mast to see if maybe she can
trick her mind into loving the rotten body so many men praised. A
siren’s song is nothing, but a pleasurable scream and
a woman behind it.
Medusa is afraid of nothing but the snakes inside of her head. There
will never be a day that she looks in a mirror and is proud of what
she is, but no one else will ever know that. A monster is better than
a victim. Recovery tastes like the blood of serpents and gravel.
The Way A Drunk Girl Prays
Shame is the only thing that has held on to me long after I tried to get it out.
Even the pills all eventually came up with enough doctors and tubes.
Don’t make him fall in love with me anymore.
I don’t want anyone else to try to keep this bush burning for any longer than it wants to.
I don’t expect him or his jaw line to be any less sharp than what you suggest.
Just please tell me, if you’re going to let him cut me open, send another one
to stitch up the wounds.