Sunday best

I pace

Throwing windows open

Moonwalking across rooms

Playing a jarring melancholy that hums along the floors

Staring back at my dry aesthetic

Ripping through cloth to find the right lie

Thrust in steam and scent

Molested with intoxication in older shades

Mona Lisa painting now

And then I pause

My feet forget how to pace

Standing high, jewelled

Breathing in the obscure lyric

Imagining a simulation

Where everything is the same

Except for me

And it looks so much better now

Quieter how

This is probably what Van Gogh’s left ear felt like

Woman

It was a thin wire

Spindly thin

And she walked on it

Carefully fast

With her pink clown shoes

As she tried to keep

Her diminishing locks

From prying into her eye

 

So, with her tired arms

And bony fingers

She wobbled

The deadly waltz

With a sly hoop

Dancing on her neck

And twisting into her hair

 

 

The hall gasped

As she spun

And almost slipped off

Unexpectedly

But the greased line

A loving mother

Kept her bleeding heels

Steadily sloped

 

 

“It would be a miracle if she made it”

they whispered

in between their thin mints

and garlic popcorn

 

Two tickets for a dollar

We bought tampons for more

Bondage

With every echoing moan

I forget our war against the patriarchy

And now

I’m swamped with these moments

Where I’m more animal than woman

And with each lyric of my night

I wonder if its wrong

To be this submissive

To feel power in losing control

I wonder if my sisters would

look at me different

With hot purple sex bloated on my back

And

I wish I could be honest

About my color

But when I wake up

I don’t know how to explain tough love

And hide from you

Because its this sad confusion

That whips me harder than them

And its in this chaos

Where I truly lose myself

And fear finally hits my floodgates

Enslaved to an undying sadistic culture

Tied down with no safe word

Outstation

We went like we came

With loud speed and uncertainty

But long walks and daybreak took us in

And with the sun we rose

Finding each other in the mountain air

And calm lakes from another time

Suspended in moments etched within rocks darker than night

We floated home on a cloud

And closed our eyes

Smoke

The pink child met

Some purple infidels

And in them did she confide

But come sundown

Purple became brown

And rainbows ebbed into darker skies

With the pale sickle

Bearing witness

The pink lit angry flames

Between porcelian teeth

And with each pull

The smoke swirled

Within her smiling memory

Then come scarlet daybreak

She mixed with the Gray

And walked amongst damned purple

Pink now gone

The little fawn

Was devoured by the screaming lion

The election

They won the only coin toss

Before the others knew how to play

And then they stood appalled 

From higher moral ground

Wearing coats with green lapels

Hints of gold in their salivating grins 

Preaching dreams only to tax them

In barren lands rain a sin

 

And yet the hollow people followed fast

The humourless constitution of the dream weaver

Afoot on a cloud above 

Lambs electing butchers as their leader

 

Finally they reached the alter

Their carcass stinking of despair 

As he perfumed himself with power

The illustrious illusion of order

Was only for the civic fair

 

And thus the carnivore sat on the throne

Lined by the hide of your forefathers 

While your flesh drops off your bone

The fat man’s dinner party a slaughter

 

A fat heart

my mind plays tricks on me
in mirrors it reflects hypotheticals

different paths to ifs and onlys
impossible parallels to my existence

it taps into my secrets
and plays a shady advertisement

promising the good life
in exchange of my soul

representing beauty
in a rigged election

because sometimes
my mind is overpowered by my body

the shell I live in defining me
rolls and ridges of generous flesh

bigger than my heart
greater than my intentions

and larger than my love for you
for me

i lost myself to the material
mean mathematics had finally conquered me

and while my shell got better for them
it left no space for breathing

my heart was fat
and you weren’t okay with that

so you butchered me into shape
leaving a hole between my lungs

making me the canvas
of your insecurities

On being a slut

My cotton briefs sit by my lacy braleṭte  

Ink stained fingers wear seductive reds

My hair dishevelled and lobes twice pierced

Legs pour out of the shorts stretched across my derriere

Christian faith nestled in boastful cleavage

My morals looser than my lovers by the sewage

Brought up in elite upscale high rises

 I drive downtown for my sunrises 

The thunder reigning over me

Making your structure a mockery

And yet I am a slut for nothing more

Than all these sins my sisters branded me for

All these luxuries I allowed myself

Cashed out on the moral credit I once held

This generation they call themselves new

Rebels like me the deviant few

Monogamous monotonous daughters and mothers

On your wrinkles the dark age hovers

The feminist you claimed to be

Pigs more understanding than she

Rain

As her auburn locks

Unfurled unabashedly

Lusting the fresh water

Falling like pellets

Which cured

The sparse lips

And miserable eyes

Changing color

As she flew

And danced

To the sound of

Ambrosia being poured

Into her mortal soul

When your eyes

Pierced her heart

And joined her merriment

With the clouds

And Electric sky

Her giggle thunderous

Prayer

She picked a coarse shingle

Torn by waves of neglect

To pray on like rosary

And as her sins grew

The stone shrunk into shape

To the hymn of her heartbeat

When finally silent emotion

Left her breathless

All that remained to reminisce

Was a polished bead

Which she turned sacred