The introversion is bottomheavy.
Unmasked, the fairy tales drip with mythic scandal and wolfbreath.
The teeth are hollow
poetry injected through hardened poetry
this song is a snakebite.
The scales team up before shuffling off,
a raw balance is peeled from syllabled skin.
It takes such great intuition to find the serpent's throat.
My legs are too overbearing--
forked like a tongue
And I just can't seem to find out where that hissing's comming from.
Advice to young women, and girls working to become them:
Say "thank you." more often,
And in more ways
Than you say that you're sorry.
The holes in my tights run
like rain on Winter's windshield.
This poem is a dollar shoved between my breasts.
my body says
in a single sway of simultaneous motions.
The tingles in my skin have rendered me ridiculous
& my hands are pulling out all of the wrong musics.