He tells me
I'm something special.
I never
quite see it.

I obsess
in my mirror,
tugging at the cobwebs
on my little head.
I break my
witch-nails off,
so I can be
as good as
he thinks I am.

I chew
on a loose cuticle,
never understood
how some cannibals
preferred their food
uncooked. The gummy
fat of my skin
really turned me off.

I'll survive
purely on his adoration.
Sucking on his words
till I reach my fill.

"Oh, god, baby,
what have you done?"

You said you'd
love me
no matter what the fuck.
My ribs are my
wings, under-evolved.
They're tearing to get out
and let me take flight
right into your "heaven".

My feet are the
claws, ready
to steal your heart
if you ever dare
take it away from me.

Do you hate
me yet?
to-call-it face.
My cheekbones are
my war paint, I'm
ready for battle
against your "hunger".

"But, baby, I
love you. It
hurts me too."

Oh, my sweet
surrender, I
haven't felt
pain since
the day I
stopped bleeding.
Let's do it more,
I can't even
bear you a son,
like you always feared.

I do this,
of course, cause
I am
Born and raised
in the 90s ideal.


I want to make
you hate me,
Instead of you
finding out what's
inside those cobwebs.
I feel transparent;
maybe by now I am.

Hate me, my love,
for I don't believe
in soulmates or