Falling for a Republican Boy

you made me believe in love

when you held me by my hips and

whispered that you would miss me


you made me believe in hate

when you used the n-word and then

laughed at the horror on my face


you made me believe in love

when you wrapped your arms around me,

and for a second i felt like i was not alone


you made me believe in hate

when you told me to grow thicker skin,

because panic attacks are “for the weak”


you made me believe in love

when you made me think that you

wanted all of me, ugly parts and all


you made me believe in hate

when you threw it all back in my face,

saying i was a stupid feminist


do you remember that

moonless night

when your texts illuminated

my phone screen,

the night that we almost

stopped speaking for good?

you told me you hated

that i was



and here we are, a year later.

i still wish i had

a choice

when it comes to you.



he is like

fried chicken after an abortion

home and yet

he is not my home

the suction marks

that line my neck

are not trophies

but scars

to be concealed

until they are pink

until I can miss them

his bed is warm

but it is not mine

the sheets are Motel-like

an itch keeps me awake

he does not love me back

and it doesn’t stop me


when I was seventeen

I was fascinated by

the burdens of the sea



wedding rings

cast away

Drowning is apparently a

burning sensation.

when I was eighteen

I was on my knees


with a fear of motherhood

and Death

When the Indian burns came,

I wept. Some dodged bullets

still hurt.

when I was nineteen

I wore you like a badge

imitation gold

wondered how I’d ever be pure of you

if I couldn’t pull out the pin.


The needle draws blood

every so often. The skin

cannot thicken.


it feels Austenian

the sounds of shifting sheets

through a broken door

alone, at two


I want to say,

baby, come

why the couch? 

why not me?

and then Nikita breaks


the night: 

How do you go back to being strangers

with someone who’s seen

your soul?









I wonder if Van Gogh knows

That sunflowers grow on his grave,

Their bright golden petals reaching

Upwards towards the starry night sky


And I wonder if F. Scott Fitzgerald knows

That students still read his books worldwide

And although he and the roaring 20s are long gone,

Gatsby’s words still live and

jump off the page


I know that our time is


And I hope that one day when I am gone

Someone uncovers these words

And brings me back to life.




Desire and lust, two heroin fairies

Walk beneath the canopies of branches of leaves

Frost winters night

Take me places I long to go

Evil resides within me

She made me do it

Who's this? 

What's your name

Lust. I've come to show you

the power of your mouth. Of

beauty of passion of fucking,

of sex, of power of pride of

submission of revenge of

darkness filled cherries of


Glittering teal

I was always here walking the

corridors and the hallways

The hidden rooms and

crumpled sheets 

I am the mistress within you 

Break me out 

Let me eat him 

Let me burn him 

Let me scar him and let me hurt him

Tie him down submit to me

I am who I am

Bear before me