“She has a tendency To hate all signs of clinginess” This is what our friend says about you. I think, You have a tendency To hate all...

Mother is a good storyteller Like when she says Daddy is dead But I know he isn’t, He stands in the corner of our little room, Littered...

It’s a sad world Where the broken teeth and blood in my mouth, Eyes mottled purple-blue, Are no excuse, and I’m small minded For turning...

i am sick of cutting away pieces of me that don't fit their mold of sewing on fabric over patches that are too ugly or too honest of...

i am not a dainty rose painted dusty pink like sunsets and afterglows —rather the pink of dried blood from where my thorns jabbed you and...

the car is just scrap metal by the bend in the highway, where rock meets rock formation. how a raven first taught us that a skull is a...

The blood drips down my thighs in fighting harmonies. Disagreeing on the weight in which to debilitate me, its desire to hurt me. My body...

i’m not even human anymore, i know / i know this isn’t normal, that everyone else’s liver grows back overnight / that everyone else frees...

I close the bathroom door, And turning on the music To the highest volume, I watch them getting Engraved on my bones: The rhythms...

Placing one foot in front of the next, all tentative. Underneath the green bridge, the river still roars. The thicket drills through our...

The first time I saw her, she was bathed in moonlight, drifting in a sea of yellow and gold. I remember how the wind whipped through her...

a table for two on one end, the guest. napkin in collar, hands with claws. the other, for food. apple in jaw, pig to slaughter. the meal...

Kept alone on a rack was the lone bamboo. Its stem had a tiny crack and green leaves bore dew. Then its leaves wilted, and cracks...

The Inferno - Chapter 1: Firestorm A maiden With lush green hair And eyes that hold A world Of their Own Mother to all Birds and monkeys...

Four years ago, you looked me in the eye and said you were proud I had done it. You were proud of the shawl I wore and the words that...

I can watch you as you fall apart. Pieces begin to dislodge themselves from your mind and land on the floor like dust— silent in...

This house is dark, dull and drear, No light doth shine from far or near, Nor ever could. And those of us who live herein, Are most as...

Alexandria played with fire, left lit cigarettes smoldering on parchment, careless with candles her brilliance outshone, fanned the...

The mirror on my wall slumbers too often into bleary inertia. I see her wrists singed by maraschino conflagrations ignited in 1835 by a...

hanging sideways at my grandmother’s, the painting—a bowl of fruit on a table—adorned in gold and red, something mundane remaining hers....