boys (excerpt)

My eyes are dry

But my flesh is hurricane

That shakes and is not shaken by

The likes of your extinguishing muzzle

My soul is a natural disaster

It burns

And it ruins

And it floods, and it freezes

And it, as it runs rabid, is disruptively unbound and unchained

I do not write about boys who would smother me beneath the tin can of some hapless gas fire

I am not a bunsen burner

Or matchstick flicker

I am a tsunami of depth and chaos and size

Your shadowy birdcage was unprepared for

–Are all the things I wanted to say

To the boy I wrote this about

Bad feminist, I hiss at myself

As I dream of the arms attached to the boy

I wrote this about

 

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