FEMINAZISLUT

I remember the year you learned the word "hegemony"

applied it to masculinity.

over swigs of whiskey, spitting into the fire, speaking in terms of mother nature and wearing men' s clothes

twirling your hair- white pretty privileged girl.

foul mouthed and steel-nerved

soft white breasts: a palm-full

wide necked shirts: hand trimmed

re-appropriating sexuality.

dusk cuts to black

take back the night!

marching into the arms

of validation

sought but never spoken of

he doesn't mind that you don't shave, you empowered woman.

womyn.

free agent.

you've read feminist literature

and let your mother's generation plant apple seeds of awareness-

although not her directly, oppressed sad mother figure.

silky white petals stick to your perspiring mind.

surfing the menstrual wave-

of some post post post

(enter generational context)

OH sweet impregnation of feminine thought

feminine body

robust and fluid, you fill me with sweetness

that only

naughty little women can offer.

CALLED PROCESS

it is through this struggle
that these elegant young things, soft milky little things,
are defiled and made to
think core-less thoughts
of self
hollowed and reactive.

you sit, so still.
these big dreams tread on
tracked and charted, linear movement has
stripped those big dreams of all substance
little plumes of condensation-
absorbed back into the starless night
before they ever really leave
they are finished.

TRANSCENDENTAL EXPERIENCES

i've been waiting here

not so much for you but more for us.

we're meant to burn blue,

grow long hair, braid it together,

pile matchsticks miles high!

don't you realize looking at that big orange moon that we should grow old together?

we should have a million stories and

never stop being able to find small bones

new bones

little bones

undiscovered land on each others bodies.

see that leaky morning sky reflect on your pillow

and

it's empty right now, but hurry up!

hopeful words.

we have so much time to get started.

SORRY BAY.

i want to purify my intentions.

spreading smoke lines across my chest: cross my heart. hope to die.

i wrap wax string around crystal quartz, find little feathers to wind into things.

gestures.

apologies.

deep blindsided apologies.

i am not sure if everyone else can see-- do you not notice my rotten core?

i'm not worth your

pity even.

a sad little girl with so much more growing up to do!

the exact same things we want are so opposite.

there is no. more. time.

for church.

for absolution.

tell me little prayers to whisper in icy breath. God's words!

hard wooden apologies.

sometimes it feels that there is venom inside of these bleached out bones.

so many fall, so so so many fall.

i am not alone, i know this. but wicked company is not good company. greasy spoils start to deteriorate,

a person.

from inside out.

there is no. more. time.

to give me sharp bloody tools

for split apologetic words.

laid out in the open. attracting flies, butchered and all too real.

so many fall, so so so many fall.

i am not alone, i know this.

but wicked company is not good company.

the very thing about being destroyed, slaughtered, defeated, bludgeoned to a state of pity and crumpled on the ground

the very thing

is you still have to get up

#1

my mother cried on the telephone today.

told me the importance of ceremony, said that a ritual is needed for finality

when some one is gone.

i sat.

burned buffalo sage

placed over my heart

spoke wishes out loud and

reminisced about who i once wanted to be.

it's unfathomable,

the ease with which you can lose yourself in layered greys

that life builds up.

i can not remember the last time i didn't feel raw,

the last time i was strong

the last time i felt consequential.

i have to rebuild!

there really is a reason for everyday and

if i find that there is nothing in this brilliant damned world

for me

except myself,

ok.

i'm ready to feel at peace with that.

DON'T CARE WORDS

i sometimes say things

mean things

scathing brillo pad words

don't care words.

i have learned to stop accepting the consequences.

if you don't care, you can't be hurt, you can't be embarrassed.

above all else, there is no shame in the morning twilight

that brand new day: quiet, precious, bearing scars from a time it never knew.

there is no disgrace weighing your eyelids down at the moment when you wake up barely breathing. lead lungs pumping.

blood turns lava hot.

so much shame.

aged eighteen

nineteen

twenty

twenty one

twenty two

twenty three.

time to forgive.
forget.

time to be just selfish enough to watch yourself hurt someone else, cross a boundary, fuck things up.

cracked little teeth, bleeding gums, dried up hearts, bruised vitals.

so much pain that you'll never feel.

you learn to be the demon that your mother, in her eleventh hour before your birth felt, terrified, by herself, worried about creating.

you

feel nothing.