who’s gonna love us? surely, you seek to touch women with softer skin white lilies on their thighs pure milk rolling off the mounds of their lips.
sweet princess who sways in chiffon, just curtains in the breeze i remember every night that i’ve been musky heavy drapes, dust-coated girl at the back of the east end party.
angular, rigid, like the cliff’s face, steep fall, a steep dialogue, i wish i was more gentle. so i laughed more at jokes of men but my laughter was brittle tree bark, my happiness shrill, sharp, i broke every silence like shards of plastic party games, witty banter it’s ruined i’m ruined.
i wanted to be smooth jade and grass. i wanted my voice to tumble out of my mouth like ivory sheets, like girls with no acne on their back, girls without chapped lips, i’m literally flaking and crumbling all over you.
and my speech would smell of lilac, but i speak in tongues of ash, cackling smoke crackling skin.
who’s gonna love us? us severe women
who perch on steps like thunderstorms who break the heat with a BOOM, who try, like martyrs to win devotion and instead frighten . . . us stone women, us women made of coal, and hard things. rough earthbound girls, hardly darling, soil in my fingernails, hairs on my fingers ever so visible as i leaned over to shoot pool in the least seductive manner imaginable.
us women of friction, who bring tension, tough truth, whose smile cuts water into sheets of ice, whose breath is the awakening shiver to the back of the sleeping man, for we can never, not ever sleep shrouded in his ego even if doing so would make us loved.
who’s gonna love us? who’s gonna love us?
i sweetly shout into my pillow, my muffled night whisper stolen clouds of feather, turning to gravel beneath my cheek, i asked again: