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it’s not the Devil you need to worry about, but the devil you know.
Some women never adapt to walls that close in like grabbing hands, and to hands that grab.
Forgets her own name, but not how it felt —how it feels—
There is nothing else in this world like realizing you’re going to live and not being sure you can.
Because she has changed. Did he really think she wouldn’t?
You kill yourself, over and over, to be different.
She is so tired of waiting —aren’t you?— for the world to become good and tolerable and kind.
The air crackled with our potential, neon and electric.
Watch for me, even when it’s moonless. I’ll throw a spark.
The law believes in motherhood, in theory. Put to practice, and you are all recoil, all kickback.
like Venus, she is perfect, she contains planets, universes of desire inside her body,
For once I’ll remake the world in my image: I am God and Punisher, Mary full of rage. My psalms are brain and body, idols no one can burn or confiscate.
You think I’m sweet, candied to cloying, a thing to grab and put in your mouth until I’m chewed to a pulp and used up. You’re wrong.
If you find the tenor or shape of my words unappealing, know that you have made me. Thank you. I will use all this against you, and you will not see it coming.
I can’t exist in a way that comforts you.
So maybe this is how the world ends: not with a bang or a whimper, but with revolution. The promise of something new.
