the sticker

I’m so glad
I never got around
to putting your sticker –
your very popular, instantly
recognizable, well known sticker –
on any of my instruments or
other possessions. after the
falling out we had – entirely
due to your reprehensible actions,
I might add – looking at it would
make me sick. you said
you did what you did
to me and not other people
because I would forgive you
right away, and other people might
hold a grudge. boy, you were wrong
about that. I will hold this grudge
till the end of the world
and beyond, just to prove
you wrong. fuck you, and fuck
your stupid sticker.

square peg

I used to be that girl,
the one with the knife in her heart
slowly twisting it
getting off on the pain
and the slow poisoning,
using it to make my art
because happiness seemed
in such short supply. I was angry
at life for tormenting me
and at myself for letting it,
but mostly I was wallowing
in sadness. and then
someone offered me
a way out. and I realized
that it was my choice
all along, and therefore I could
choose to feel differently.

all those things
that made me feel
like I was not good enough,
irredeemably flawed, broken,
gradually transformed
into what made me me
and seen through
different eyes, became
lovable.

if you’re out there trying
to hammer that square peg
into a round hole, just
walk away. all that energy
will come back to you threefold
once you release it
from its fruitless labor.

the size of it

telling your companion
to leave space for me
on the bench was
(in theory) a nice gesture.
telling her to be sure
to leave extra room
because I am big
was unnecessary,
and furthermore
quite rude, dude.

a couple of things
to consider: first,
had you not mentioned
my sex, there would have been
no need to mention
my size. I am not bigger
than your average man.

secondly, since you said it
in front of my boyfriend,
you must have known
this would get back to me
by the end of the night.
so your later attempt to kiss
my ass – the very one
the size of which you seemingly
felt compelled to mock –
was an ill-fated and
ill-conceived maneuver.
I innocently accepted
your flattery at the time,
but upon learning
of your treachery, am
now twice as mad.

thirdly, if you think
that I am not already
very much aware
of how much space I
occupy, you’ve got
another think coming.
I ride the subway
and also exist as a
woman on this planet.
it was unkind and unnecessary
to remind me
that I should be smaller
to be acceptable
to you and yours.

for all your preaching
about social justice, perhaps
you need to practice
a little more.

endless entropy

things are getting
demonstrably worse.
science fiction is
becoming fact,
and science facts
aren’t welcome in
this country anymore.

if you bury your head
in the sand, you’ll be
unpleasantly surprised
when the sand heats up.
like the frog
in the slowly boiling
water, most of you
don’t feel too bad
just yet. except
all the people yelling
because we know
how bad it’s already
becoming. for us
each day is worse
than the last. how
are we going to survive
the next four years?

if he had his way,
we wouldn’t. just
when you think
it can’t possibly
go any further
downhill, he digs
a new tunnel
to hell.

so laugh it up, make
all the jokes
while you still can.
soon enough they’ll
get you sent
to the gulag.

the Lion

I’m at 125th street, waiting. in an
exhausted daze, took
the wrong train
again. story
of my life. next to me
a woman clutches a pamphlet
with a crudely drawn cartoon
of a lion on it.

“There’s a Lion
looking for you,” it reads.
it’s just some creepy
Xtian tract, but the phrase
haunts me. I’m reminded of
the Tarot card for Strength,
and of Narnia.

where’s my Lion? has he
found me yet? will
he eat me already, and free me
from this hell of my own
making? or am I already
inside his belly – is that why
everything feels so very
dark?

Continue reading the Lion

how you really feel

him: we’re not dating.
me: tell
me how you really feel.
him: I don’t like you
that way.
me: tell me
how you really feel.
him: you’ll thank me
for this later.
me: tell me how
you really feel.
him: I’m not over
my ex.
me: tell me how you
really feel.
him: you’re boy crazy.
me: tell me how you really
feel.
him: I don’t miss you, I
don’t need you, I don’t
love you.
me: okay you can stop
telling me now.