cart-writes

[cart-writes]

The Feedback Loop

I am a woman born

and

I am sick of martyrdom

Our walls bleed and shed

the quarters for a

potential son

A son is born

and

he is well fed from the breast

A daughter is born

and

her time is limited

before she is a woman

and

is sick of martyrdom

[cart-writes]

Cruel Pleasures of the Flesh

Humanity’s Garden of Eden is our sex

Our youthful bodies at peak

Wet with excitement 

We are beautiful

Until we’ve bared the forbidden fruit

That has taken our Garden away

We are withering 

and dry

In the Land of Nod

[cart-writes]

I Love the Smell of Cigarettes

I love the smell of cigarettes. Outside in downtown, watching the cars rush by;

they nearly knock me off my feet. Breathing in the sour scent, I can't help but relish it. The smell pollutes my brain with memories of damp Canadian springs, freezing cold puddles and dirty bare feet coated in fresh blades of sweet grass. Tripping over rough gravel, stones in my knees, Mom and Dad on the stairs. I sit on the grass, inhaling the sweet smell of cigarettes.

[cart-writes]

Hunger

There is something so feminine about loving the sensation of hunger. The twisting and tightening feeling in your gut is a reminder of the lost weight to come. An abstention from necessity, our silent suffering— makes hunger so feminine.

[cart-writes]

Markings

I like the way your fingers sink into my side,

the feeling of your longing for me.

Like you’ve been starved, and I am

your sustenance.

I crave the marks

that your fingers should’ve left

as a memento of your lust.

I want the kiss mark on my breast

to stay forever

eventually, they fade

and

I stare at my blank canvas.