Poem: Milly is Not My Name

I will be Agate, with her turquoise glasses
and smile like a broken picket fence that needs new paint,
whose mom sends her to school with cosmic brownies
and an apple cherry juice box. She arrives for the day
wrapped in Daddy’s arms and eagerly waits to go Home again.

I will be Carley, with her shiny hair
and bright pink fingernails, glittering in the sunshine
of our school playground. She is Master of the Monkey Bars;
boys try to look up her dress as she swings across,
and I don’t know why, but they keep on looking anyway.

I will be Rachel, with her Ken doll and Barbies
and green backpack so bright it hurts my eyes to look at.
She plays with Mabel, Gwen, and Denise, and sometimes,
their dolls do naughty things when Teacher isn’t looking.
She knows where babies come from, and everyone asks to sit by her.

But I am me, with my matted red hair
and a sunset, fading into dusk, streaked across my arms and legs.
I hide at the back of the class because Teacher won’t stop
asking about Daddy, and Carley wants to know why
my eye looks gross and why my lip is so fat, but I can’t tell her

And I am me, with my empty bedroom
and doll whose head is cracked like mine and whose arms and legs
skew apart and whose body is thin in the middle
where I hold onto her for dear life. I am the canvas of my daddy’s art,
but he only paints in amethyst, sapphire, and onyx.

I am his masterpiece, but I am so tired of being painted.

Poem: I’m sorry

How it feels to long to hold the baby you’ll never have

Sure they’ll be others

Sure they’ll be a one day

But they’ll never be her. They’ll never be your first.

What it means to love someone who will never breathe a breath

And what it means to regret

Short Story Teaser: Experiment 44

Scarlet Cardino works in Sales for a large plastics firm, so she spends forty hours a week bored out of her mind. Consequently, she can pay bills and has ample income for her favorite hobby.

Serial killer is an over-used title. Scarlet thinks of herself more as a scientist exploring an unethical frontier. All the data she collects is safely stored in a small notebook stored in her motorcycle at her aunt’s cousin’s best friend’s estranged, dead mother’s house. It’s a terribly convenient location.

Although, fate had little to do with it.

The daughter rents the house out to a retired hermit she found on craigslist—also dead—but if the checks keep coming, no one seems to care.

Anyway, enough history, let’s get on with it.

This is the story of experiment forty-four, who cut Scarlet off on the freeway and must now pay her debt to society.

Poem: We, the Rapists (trigger warning)

Rape,
The fair and just punishment
For being.

A righteous consequence

For those short skirts
And that drunk blood
And being out late
And letting me pay
And being alone
And the friendzone
And the needs of
Your fellow man.

What I see belongs to me.

And if you show too much
I’ll touch.
If you show too little
I’ll touch.
If you’re too loud
If you’re too quiet
If you’re too young
Or too old

If you don’t say no
I’ll touch.
I’ll touch.
I’ll touch.

What I see belongs to me.

These your repercussions for
Wanting too much
Trying to be equal
Ignoring my advances
Denying my rights.

Tame the bitch
Remind her

“I am man.”

Let us poke and prod the daughters
Of our families and friends.

“Not all men,”

But with stats like 1 in 6,
there must be more than 1 man.

Is it shame that ties our tongues
Or guilt that makes us scream?

If he is guilty, why not I?
What I did was worse than he,
but I’m a good guy,
So that can’t be.

I didn’t know it was rape
I didn’t bother asking.

I didn’t know it was assault
I just wanted to get lucky.

I didn’t know it was molestation.
Her eyes were shut, so she must want it.

I didn’t know it wasn’t wanted
she was too drunk to speak up.

She made me wait so long
she owed me so.

She said we’d have sex long ago
But didn’t want to too many times.

Her words were hushed
No “no” was mentioned, though
I admit her knees were stiff
And womanhood was tight.
I thought that just meant she liked it

We laughed and drank stiff tequila
Until she passed out in my car
When she woke with my head between her legs.
I thought that’s what she wanted.

She tried to pull away but
God it felt so good, So
I held on a little tighter ‘til
I was good and ready to let go.

It’s not my fault,
They’ll tell you so.
We’ll blame it on my alcohol
Or hurl guilt onto the media
Or maybe I’ll just curse the porn
Filling up my browser history.

Protect our sons
And fuck our daughters.
Don’t let lying whores
Ruin the lives of growing boys.

We all make mistakes
Let us forgive
And be damned to
Any consequence.

My body is a right and privilege,
And all yours belong to me.
I’d never say that aloud,
But my action declare that belief.

My needs are all your problems.
And my ego, your damnation.
It’s not dark corners
you need fear, my loves.

It’s me and my good intentions,
it’s nice guys and blurred lines.

Poem: Indulge

Not running away from the pain
is the bravest thing I’ve ever done–
Choosing against addiction
Choosing against obsession
Choosing against rage
Choosing against self-destruction.

It seems obvious,
but when faced with the unthinkable,
it’s the embrace of an escape,
the whisper on my shoulder,
the promise of forgetfulness,
and this ledge I come back to
again and again.

But as I stare into
the abyss of fake freedom,
I have chosen again
and again to walk away–
To charge into my darkness
To face the throes of my secrets
To conquer my own demons.

Numbness is the promise
to which I say “no.”
And it is the hardest and
most courageous word I’ve yet used.

To simply sit with my heartache,
and remind myself to just
keep fighting,
keep hoping,
keep loving,
keep talking,
keep writing,
and to always

keep going.

Poem: thin lines

It’s hard to love your body

when it’s the reason:

repeated

repeated

repeated

repeated

damage and transgressions.

It’s hard

to not want–

claw

shred

rip

–your own skin off

with shining acrylic

nails, a coffin shape,

etched to kill.

Or make yourself unappealing—

to get so

fat

averted eyes protect your dignity—

or conversely

to get so thin

you can’t

be seen. To be

so thin

that you disappear.

Or

skip the thin

and just

disappear all together.

You can’t violate the air,

Or the mist,

Or the wind.

So become the sky

line drawn

like a race track to heaven—

or hell.

depending

on which God you

believe in. Perhaps

just the abyss.

A white nothingness for all

eternity. With so

much bullshit,

a lot of nothing

sounds

sweet.

Poem: kids think the darnedest things

As a little girl,

I wished to be a boy

in hopes that you might

love me more.

.

When I became a woman,

I learned that little girls

Ought be careful what they wish for,

For you wished I wasn’t yours.

Poem: rushing waters

There’s so much I don’t say

when I’m angry.

I’m starting to wonder

if it’s drowning me–

All this hate like stones on my chest

As I lay at the bottom of the river

where good intentions flow.

Poem: Your Name

Like a dirty word,

Like an accusation,

Like an insult,

Like a crime.

I hear it, and

it’s like being punched

in the throat,

Like being slit from

breast to navel,

Like being startled to

A heart attack,

Like having someone leap

From around a corner.

How my entire body Jolts,

Intestines to stomach

and lungs to heart.

Like each part of my body

Can’t bear to stay in place,

Can’t handle the immobility.

Your name makes every

molecule of me,

desperate to flee.

The contents of my stomach,

Rebel against its tract,

Against the weight of your

Secrets coming to attack.

They revolt against the pressure.

They demand to purify,

To eat away at my esophagus.

Expelling what I’d eaten to

Cleanse me from the inside.

Poem: Psychopaths and Socrates

We aren’t supposed to stare at the wall while we think. Philosophers and great thinkers stare at ceilings and stars, engrossed in the answers to the universe.

Only psychopaths stare at walls. We cannot be bothered to turn our heads to heaven.

Because the walls have answers heaven can’t provide. The wall holds secrets of humanity. Who cares about other galaxies—I want to understand the world around me. I want to understand you.

So I will keep staring at walls, lost in the galaxies in your mind, listening and waiting for the epiphany that will bring you back to me.