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the birth of venus.
in the beginning,
god created teenage girls
and shaped my organs to resemble the disney princess music box that sat atop all of our shelves
hums reverberate throughout my lungs
so this is love
of lace and flabby thighs, third grade boys would avert their eyes cast in the fires of
(so this is what makes life divine)
sighs of teen angst or some chemical imbalance
goes great with my new feet which stomp all around the room
i’m parading around like a girl in a novel by judy blume
I know you
I walked with you once upon a dream
seems as if I live in a home of
high up in the belltower where cobwebs linger for no one wants to dust up there
if my skin is brown and my eyes aren’t fair
hair, will you grow?
I’m sick of being Celie for the teenager in me solely envies Shug Avery.
arms like branches wade through the sea
estrogen bounces off the wall and trashcans full of tampons
I am like the wallpaper.
hung upon the wall for 16 years
(and starting to peel.)
everyday your mother passes by with a sneer,
“we really should change that wallpaper, dear.”
looking around here, you’d think, sure.
she’s got everything.
I’ve got armhair and leg hair aplenty.
I’ve got pimples and blackheads galore.
I’ve only just begun and my brain is sore,
but what for?
part of me is missing, part of me is lost. you see,
I’ve dropped my identity and no one turned it in to the police,
you see, I’’m afraid I left a piece of life within the cracks of the city.
you see, a piece of me will linger on the sole of every shoe.
you see, I am dragged across the road with gum splattered across my face.
because I’ve lost her a long time ago and I’m afraid I’ve lost my sight.
what light through yonder breaks my heart quivers and shakes my brain makes
mistakes and why does my soul ache when I pass a
mirror, mirror on the wall,
and I have to suck in my stomach.
when will my reflection show what I have to hide?
I’m stuck between my ribcage and that thing inside.
I want to float away one day
(perfect, without flaws)
I want to be stripped from this new body of mine
more faults I seem to find as my age seems to climb
when the girl is 16 she will prick her finger on the needle
of a spinning weel
and fall into a deep slumber somber wasting hearts palpitating
I’m afraid that I might need saving.
see, I’ve been idolizing slyvia since before I was born
and mesmorized by kurt in his melancholic form
my body splits apart and my head is forlorn
and my limbs fall apart and my reasoning’s torn
and I forget what even my soul was made for
I want to disappear.
but I’m not sure if I was ever here.