blush

a poem (escapril day thirteen)

glasses of wine. satin dresses. freshly painted nails. 

mismatched socks. sweaty, tangled sheets. cigarette ash. 

girls look in the mirror and they blush. 

girls look in the mirror and they cry. 

sometimes we need to be reminded why we exist. 

so, girls are made up of their little mementos, their little kisses to life.  

i have illegible poems taped all over my wall, 

covering the spots where the paint crackles and peels, 

so father will never know.

my teeth are in the heart-shaped box i stole from my mother’s drawer. 

and i rattle them around some nights, just to hear them talk. 

i have a lighter, a switchblade and dried flower petals on my nightstand, 

(girls mix up weapons and play).

i am a candle still burning, with barely any wax left. 

but all i know is to re-consume everything that i love, everything that i am.

my journal is filled with love letters to something demonic, something feral,

but my cheeks still go pink with each reread, enticed by the intimacy.