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Just wreyeder tryna write
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Choking back strawberries in a whirl of anxiety
You were only ever art.
Tasting your veins on a Spring morning and wanting to spit the blood from the back of my throat.
Oh, honey.
Oh, this disgusting act.
Your legs kick at the backboard leaving my head in a fit of
Spin.
Spin.
Spin.
Oh, baby.
Oh, pathetic I.
-L. D.
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“your eyes hella red u been smokin??” no I been crying bitch leave me alone
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“I rise like the sun above olive trees, like the moon above date palms. Where there is light, I shall be. Where there is darkness, there is none of me. I rise like the moon above date palms. I am counted as one among stars.”
— Book of the Dead, Ancient Egyptian Funerary Text, circa 1600 BCE
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the thing
about rape
is you can’t help
but learn
to be always
out for blood,
even if it’s your own.
there were times
I went hunting for him
in my skin.
There were times
I thought
my wrist
was his grin.
If you hit the right vein
you bleed in spurts
like someone
trying to hold
their laughter in.
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