writing

burnt toast feeds the devil

Superstition 5,Burnt toast feeds the devil. I recently saw a tiktok explaining that the devil is a literacy device created by men with the function to control others, namely, woman. Or also, I assume other men who are dumb enough to see the devil as a separate entity from a control mechanism via literature. However,… Continue reading burnt toast feeds the devil

grapefruit spoon

I am looking for my grapefruit spoon.I cannot find my grapefruit spoon.I unfold the dishwasher as if he was my partner in a ballet.She folds and I search her cavities,I cannot find my spoon.I doublecheck and reorder her feet and still yet her utensils don’t bleed in theColor that im looking for.Where is my grapefruit… Continue reading grapefruit spoon

her keychain

I gave him an I love New York keychain and he wouldn’t take it off of his fingers. The rest of the time we lounged around my bed, he kept on dangling it off of his hands letting it clank and jingle. When we went to the round table to be with my others, I… Continue reading her keychain

red

Life is drab without spilled blood. I used to silently toil to the moon and the waves; surf, swim, drown in celestially-induced mavericks of my blood. Pipelines of spilled red, oceans of color spilling from the orifices of my skin. Skin that released red without consent. I looked down at my chair at 14 years… Continue reading red

teatime

Emily Dickinson rides in a teabag in my blue cup. A sunset dashed in oiled writings, seeping into flavor, into me, out into my room, inwards and outside. I cry without the curved creases of my contacts and I am happy for the non-obstruction. I haven’t realized how interruptive it is to have domes in… Continue reading teatime