A strong woman needn’t call herself such.
A witch is a witch, the end.
Words are just noises,
and I am just dirt mixed with water,
In awe of hypocrisy, I sip my hot chocolate.
A caring tongue burn is restful resurrection
from the thorns I prick my eyes with.
An iced-sweet tea doesn’t calm the storm.
Warm rain doesn’t sort the drought.
Your soft voice doesn’t heal the rage.
Your words, never meant much anyway.
In taking up space I’ve surrendered my breaths.
In taking up space I’ve surrendered my breasts.
I stand brazen,
in a pool of my own blood.
Suck my fingers,
And taste my mother’s mother’s mother’s shame.
sachet of failed curses.
I reclaim my ash,
I reclaim myself.