spine

you love my back 

but you don’t know what it carries

how my spinal cord 

contorts into alignment 

for the convenience of others 

built to convince them

my head rests on solid shoulders.

i stand tall

shoulders back, 

slouch no more.

scolded to scoliosis 

tailbone arched to please

each spinal peak

rises like a wave

then breaks

against freckled skin.

i place my pain in ink

along this rocky mountain chain.

behind my eyes

each needle finds a nerve

and teaches it to curve 

until even sensation

is fried to silence.

double dagger ‡

stabs dirt atop the mountain’s peak

slashed into something transient 

an untraceable intermediate 

caught in transition 

gibbs attempts to gather

the activation energy 

required to scale such heights

to claim the blade 

dug into the intangible

structure collapses on the climb 

bonds broken between brothers

release his futile grip   

with each slip he returns lower 

to ground state 

only when his tears

incite the hydrolysis of his heart

does the incline flatten,

exposing the neck of the blade

piercing the horizon.

in futile fists he grips

the sleek serrations of the dagger 

blood blooms from the webs 

of his ignorant flesh

until he releases, only to notice

he does not recognize his reflection

irreversibly transformed 

into a product of his own curiosity 

catalyzed by the conquistador’s desire

to hold in a fist

what only exists unheld ‡

romantic thief

my first breath i imagine a big bang

when life ignites, it shifts form

she wakes quick, starving for oxygen

pressed to my mouth like a prayer i rehearsed

before i knew what i believed

i am now a mother breathing for two

smoke crawls into my eye

i russian twist my cigarette from side to side

to coax her mischievous path 

she spirals like a small nebula

fluid in the wind

she ascends to heavens as a final offering

a sacrifice to remain formless and free 

she leaves my lips 

in pulses my diaphragm can’t stop

impossible to pocket in my ribcage

her warmth washes the walls of my throat

while tickling my nasal canal

before she pulls away 

leaving the ashy aftertaste of freedom on my tongue 

her dormant body lies stiff in lined sticks

claustrophobic in a commercial box

i am an addict 

but nevertheless a romantic 

whose dying wish is to set her free

to take in her poison

and still call it mercy

i bite

I bite at the hand that feeds me 

gnaw at its knuckles 

until I am satisfied by the sound 

of snapping carrots 

I would rather starve 

than digest the disgust of man 

I spit out each nail

and whittle its meat from my teeth

with the wiggle of a long white phalange

my tongue remembers the indents

of its naked palm 

reading each engravement 

with a tender lick  

picking apart its false prophecy 

I wipe my lips 

and massage my mandibles  

still chewing permission

the metallic aftertaste of blood 

pools beneath my tongue

And I cant tell if its mine

Or the price of obedient love

thread

I spent all night sweating

against silk sheets

made to comfort skin

only to suffocate beneath

their million-thread count

thinking of you

hours of anguish spent 

rummaging the closet 

behind my anxious eyes

I select which shoes make me tall enough

to pretend I’m the one judging

I dress to look down on you

a costume of altitude,

to spite the fact that 

I am too sterile to persuade into passion

too skeptical to believe 

the lyrics behind your lust 

I sleep for a second 

only to wake up thrashing 

in a cold coat of dew 

collecting on the hairs of my skin

like blades of grass before dawn

weeping for the day your face escapes the glass

I lie naked atop of my bed 

legs spread apart the way you imagine me

running my nails down my thighs

until i draw blood warm enough 

to lull me back to sleep

I wake to a severed string

our thread gone quiet

silk sheets unwound into iridescent fiber

decorating my bed like confetti

to celebrate yet another day

spent mourning your absence

shameful daughter

perhaps I am not as good of a daughter

as I am a scientist.

or perhaps it is exactly because I am skeptical

that I make a shameful daughter.

I speak above my father

calmly,

without raising my voice.

his aggression echoes between my ears,

though they have adapted

to no longer absorb the dissonance.

I point out abnormalities

that are collectively silenced,

falsified by faith in the family name.

I perceive patterns

that nauseate their reality into delusion,

a distortion in data

that no trendline can linearize into meaning.

I make notes in my diary

like a lab notebook,

to record observations

in order to make sense of the world around me.

like Galileo,

I would rather be grounded in truth

than believed.

perhaps being a shameful daughter

is what molded me

into a devout scientist

one guided by intuition

rather than the normative,

who identifies biases

and rejects familiar comfort,

who digs into the cyclical nature of generations

to evolve through awareness.

I can decorate my family name

with prefixes deserving of praise,

though no amount of education

can dissolve the discomfort

I carry to the dinner table.

so I set it down between the plates
like a small, persistent lantern,
trusting that someone after me
will eat in its light
and call that inheritance.

seppuku

silly caucasian girl likes to play with samurai swords

swinging around words

that were never passed down,

but cultivated through neglect

how deep must my blade cut

in your honor

before my shoulders are knighted

with worthiness in your eyes?

i went rogue the moment

my feet chose peace

over the path assigned to me.

they called it disgrace

a village’s shame inked between my brows,

a birthright burned into obedience.

must i give you a clean death?

would it please you

to watch a ritual suicide

all ceremony, no redemption

silenced by duty,

made holy by blood?

i am still full of fight and wonder,

not so easily silenced

by command or capture

or the quiet demand

to leave this world gracefully.

the steel of my blade catches the sweat

on my cheekbones,

sharp light tracing defiance

as the color drains from my face.

it is then

that i feel most woman.

margins

the mathematician writes poetry in his margins

to a lover he has never quite grasped.

he speaks to her in Greek symbols,

metaphors that communicate more

movement than they can compute

each curve a whisper,

each proof a confession

of what logic can’t hold.

he feels their dance

down to the molecule

a symmetry of motion and want.

he braids her dimensions

of time and space,

holds each of her hairs to the light,

studying the fabric

that weaves all reality into one.

each thread shines

derived from stardust

and darkness.

he attempts to trace her outline in smeared ink

still she remains

a black hole in his mind,

a scribble in the margins of his page,

a vacuum that evades containment.

something so soft,

so fluid,

so unwilling to be solved,

bound by rules,

still she shimmers with exceptions.

the walk home

i need to leave
to breathe, or maybe just escape.
a single car drove us here
there is only one house to go back to.
i am suffocating in my own blood.

it’s a five-mile walk home from the restaurant,
but i attempt freedom.
my hip flexors ache by mile three.
the rain curls my flat-ironed hair
and nips at my exposed ankles
while mud cakes the sides of my sneakers.

i walk past foreign familiarities.
downtown lights glow in the wind
like fireflies my naïve hands once
yearned to grasp

something warm
to call my own.
my face stays buried in my sweater
while muscle memory carries me
through the mist.

my phone is dying,
blinking and buzzing with consequences,
but i keep playing the first
Arctic Monkeys album on repeat,
thinking how my youngest
sister listens to music i used to.

i turn the doorknob.
the warmth of the kitchen
stings my frozen fingers,
thaws the tip of my nose.
and i will keep running back
into that burning building
for as long as she must suffocate too.

woman or wolf

is it better to speak or to die?

the boy who cried wolf

lied

until death

lies still

the girl who tried

truth

denied in court 

tried still 

fang indents choke 

her neck, wrists crosshatched

by claws 

she dare not reveal

her phantom pain 

invisible under oath

stigmata seep 

through white sleeves

bleeding down each button 

woman or wolf

the judge squints

while the courtroom constricts around her

red-handed in defense

rejected by justice

truth dies with her 

immunity

my mind shouts sabotage 

SHAVE YOUR HEAD

PIERCE YOUR NIPPLES

TATTOO YOUR HANDS

while my body whispers mutiny

feel, forgive and release

to protect these tortured lands 

she etches the manifesto
between my ears and behind my eyes

the pain you resist persists

in my dreams i brush my fingers

against her braille and repent

grant me rest

free my conscious breath 

only to wake up blind 

bound by the mind’s mouthless voice

AVOID

  DISTRACT

       DESTROY

she pounds on my skull in morse code

deafening dits and dahs until i answer the door

only unconditional love will set you free 

i roll my eyes back into their sockets

pocketing the last of my strength to twist the knob

light spills through the hinges

not blinding, not burning

only a steady dawn 

there is no rush to evolution

yet i feel the revolution rising

with each quiet breath

bechdell test

1. the work must feature at least two women, 

2. these two women must talk to each other, and 

3. their conversation must be about something other than a man

my sisters help me slip into my second skin

zip up my suit, and offer me breath 

through a sandy tube i grip between my teeth

my gills thrash and gasp for air 

“fight the discomfort and evolve” 

they sing like a lullaby

sirens lure me into the water,

gifting my toes a temporary tail,

fins that carry my buoyant body

into the ocean’s swaying womb

i  stare into the salty unknown

Atlantis thrives under this inverted sky,

city lights shimmering in garibaldi scales,

lost treasure lurks beneath an empire of sand.

graceful hands guide me through aquatic gardens

knuckles interlaced, we swim through a shared dream

they point toward iridescent flashes 

and propel me across the liquid mirror 

under the shifting of sand 

an ancient shell floats from the surface 

a mossy angel ascends into heaven

to remind us of our mortal lungs  

she radiates wisdom in ripples across the glass sky  

before politely declaring her decent

down into the depths of darkness 

where her secrets remain disguised 

her whisper bubbles up above her shadow

air saturated with her secrets

rises to the surface 

and evaporates into our open ears

“our voices echo longer than our lungs endure”

detangling

clutching only hair

i pull blonde from my brush 

gold threads wound round each bristle

until whisked away 

from the paddle like cotton candy 

i roll you between my fingers 

where the webs of my hands

once held your hair 

strands so silky and elusive 

they slip through the gaps of my grasp

the scent of coconut milk lingers

shampoo i once scrubbed into your scalp

now i only wash for one

while i reminisce about the smoothness

of your wet skin and soapy smile

and i never liked blondes

or dated girls before 

but i would wear a wig of her hair

as a helmet to protect my brain

from losing any more of her

at night i dream in tangles

each strand a thread back to her

my hands grip like bloodied rope

i wake with fists closed

clutching only air

rose

paint me like one of your French girls
on the page i am prettier
you get my nose wrong
but i forgive
posed as your muse

i admit amusement of your craft

appreciation of creation

we similarly worship
yet under this holy light
of your inspiration, i radiate
nothing but a flat draping of skin

you capture me
trace the edges
of my boundless existence
onto some foreign medium

then bow in inflation

stab your flag through my flesh 

in conquest of beauty

weaponize the arts
to imitate intimacy

you hang that frame of me
hostage above your bed
a forged vision
of a girl you never met

nude neighbor

I am the nude neighbor
watching you from the window
don’t you dare stare back perv

incognito comando
in my birthday suit on business,
an attractive alias
meant to lure or warn

the real girl next door
is nothing than a blur
in your window’s tint,
a shadow smudged
across the back of your eyes

you think you know me
after stealing my skin
from a distant glance,
but I am the one
undressing your mind.

I am an open book

spread from my sternum

flowering open 

my breasts staring back at you

what good is an open book

when you are illiterate 

in the language of love?

men do love picture books. 

and the conquest of eye contact 

until they realize 

that I have been staring first 

all along.

hyoid

Between ligament and muscle, the hyoid. The hinge of speech. The bone Neanderthals lacked.

hold your tongue 

grab it by the root and tug

until the tension of its sound is flattened

to a punchline

tongue tied you never tried

to pronounce Truth

only hissed in dialects

designed to dilute wisdom into water

each flick of the tongue 

every patter of your lips

casts a spell, a vibration

contamination of the honest air

swallow your words 

and pray you do not choke

on your tongue,

there is no heimlich

only 

the hyoid bone 

mitski’s pearl

It's just that
I fell in love with a war.

Nobody told me it ended.

And it left a pearl in my head.
And I roll it around
every night
just to watch it glow.

while my baby twirls me
in the hush of her tide

you ricochet
off the walls of my skull

 like a pinball machine,

shame spinning wild
ringing loud inside,
while my baby sways
to the silence
that only
she
can hear

if pressure makes diamonds
you are carved of a sister stone

pearlescent pain
fossilized inside
the dome of my solitude

smoothed and sanded down
by the current of neurons
that flash
in memory
of a forgotten war

my baby loves my brain
and the fun facts it spits

though it suffocates
like a claustrophobic clam
suffering a small obstruction
lodged in the back of its throat
clutching its breath

so it won’t choke

there is no help
no heimlich

no hand
deep enough
to reach
what lives
in me

so i listen
to my baby laugh

admire how it harmonizes
with the ringing
in my brain
as it bleeds

 oozing quiet
from my ears

 my pure white,
opalescent angel
planted gently
inside my skull

 glows there still
watches over us
as i endure
it without hope

Every night, baby,
That's where I go.

pp

prozac princess! please come back!

you left your prescription at the top step!

without it you will wobble

then wish you were dead

your SSRI smile will fade into fog

and the pumpkin carriage you arrived in will be gone!

please take your meds—return home

this is not the matrix

no red or blue pill to polarize your mind

just one white pop! you are real i promise 

have some water to wash it down  

your psychiatrist told me of your symptoms 

in confidentiality of course!

skipping around your meds will only make it worse

i fear you cannot outrun the synapses in your skull 

nor the ghosts that will follow

paranormal agitation and fatigue

after the insomnia sets in

you will be begging 

withdrawals of an addiction?

no! your daily prescription!

gulp it down in the same breath of adorning your crown

princess, your throne is just a chair now.

sit down. swallow.

burnout

you press the ass of the cigarette

sensually against my sternum

as if to isolate my sins with scorch 

the sizzle stretches into an echo

we both wait for my reaction

my seared flesh screams in mother tongue 

a lost language invisible to my ears 

the human condition i cured like a common cold  

i apologize for the failed exorcism, 

yes, 

this is really me 

though not how i always was

i could tell you it is the prozac

the perfectionism 

the pride i allow to blindfold my sensations 

that made me this way

but my heartless facade 

is bound by fired nerve endings

synapses burnt out from rapid fire and forgiveness 

all resources exhausted

as am i 

with nothing left to give, i retreat  

heat had always been easier to heal from than hope

jellyfish

ethereal flesh
floats upon the shore

sand sprinkled between each striation
attempts to make her sheer skin decent

aphrodite’s solid tears
boneless yet buoyant
intrigue the human perversion
if she does not sting
then she shall be undressed

her tentacles teased 

poked and prodded
smothered against the sand
dissected and demented 

upon your every demand 

how easy is it to dismiss the transparent–
to stare through its vessel of truth
as ego’s magnifying glass
to reaffirm reality as an opaque
substance you can see, study, and praise

you foolishly forget

she was once a siren’s secret
a pulse suspended in salt
not made to harden, only to feel
to bloom with the moon, to bruise without notice

her absence of bone

you torture as defective
unworthy of structure
but dont bones break too?

tell me, is it better not to bend in resilience

than to break in resistance?

you flatten her to a punchline
because she refuses to sting on command

no, she will not perform her pain for you

you grow bored and bury her in sand 

in attempt to erase her gelatinous existence  

and when she dissolves,
you won’t remember the way she shimmered

only the taste she left on your lips
strange, saltless, and suddenly gone