Creative Writing Blog: Absinthe and Blow

Black and white you render, Why must I surrender? You have me on my knees, Blurring lines of gender Shove it down my throat Absinthe and blow My body’s canvas Fist the brush We’ll make great art You’ll get a rush So paint me black and shade me blue Then sign your name, with red ink too my high’s become your low, As you strike another blow So paint me black and shade me blue Then sign your name with red, ink, too Sugar drips into the glass It takes the bite away The scars left on my flesh They put me on display Fan the flames of hatred You’ll only make me stay My body’s canvas Fist the brush We’ll make great art You’ll get a rush So […]

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Creative Writing Blog: Bound

I wait for him on my knees, on latex and bruises For a kiss, for a breath, for a slap He chokes me, steals the air until I’m gasping, Begging for release. He is merciless, pushing me against walls, into corners Spreading my legs, tasting, exploring Until I’m over the edge, gone. I follow him to bed Bound, And wait. I am deaf without his touch Blind without his kiss Mute without his voice There is only desire in his eyes, waiting to devour me I bow my head when he enters me Prostrating to his needs Bending to his will He calls to me and I come Wetness dripping through my lips and into his I am his slave, […]

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Creative Writing Blog: Blossoms

As I fold a shirt and place it in my backpack, fingers trembling, I realize that there are no flowers this time. Jordan brought me orchids the first time it happened. He showed up at my door at 7:00 a.m., eyes pleading. He tenderly kissed the red swell on my cheek and told me he loved me. I nodded my head and went to go find a vase. I loved him too, after all. The second time it happened, he brought me daisies. I woke up to the bouquet on my windowsill and the smell of pancakes cooking downstairs. I crept down in my nightdress, a cardigan draped over the oblong patches of bruising where my back had hit the […]

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Creative Writing Blog: Post Pubescence in G Major

Maybe if I just stopped eating keratin and snipped the smallest ends of my braid I could live suspended in the era of my youth before every man who taught me how to cuss and every woman who played me the piano become antique echoes (mahogany acoustics muffled by six feet of soil) and each of my wrinkles is a prophecy fulfilled. (Bb)itch (D)amn (C#)unt (F)uck (Gsus)goddamn. All the best things are moving in cycles. I was born of asteroids and decomposed corn husks and (one day) my body will be no more than a compacted dust pie of sedimentary rock. Layers and layers of strangers’ skin cells and small swaths of wildebeest fur will become the new top soil; my […]

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