Bad Feminist

You’re a bad feminist
because you keep crying about boys
who don’t give a shit about you
You’re a bad feminist
because you preach self care to your friends
and self-destruct when no one’s around
You’re a bad feminist
because you like to say fuck the male gaze
while forcing yourself to slap on makeup
and shave your legs before every date
You’re a bad feminist
because you let your insecurities spread like wildfire
until everything has been burned to the ground
You’re a bad feminist
because you quit therapy
even though you’re an emotional breakdown away
from sabotaging everyone’s happiness
You’re a bad feminist
because all you do is write about your mother
in a language she can’t read
while you ignore her calls
because you’re fucked up
and hearing her on the phone
makes you feel even more fucked up
You’re a bad feminist
because your biggest and most frequent lies
are “I’m okay” and “I’m fine”
You’re a bad feminist
because you keep screaming love yourself
(please please please just love yourself)
to all these empty fucking rooms
that make up that sad excuse of a thing
you call your beating heart


One Year Later

same place,
different boy
but this time,
I’m in control
this time,
I’m on top
this time,
it’s my car in the dark
and I’m the one wary
of getting caught
this time,
my breath comes out smooth
instead of sharp
this time,
he’s the one
who can feel my beating heart
this time,
the kissing doesn’t stop
and this time
doesn’t feel like a loss


catch the moon.

I can’t stop
coming undone
when I’m stuck
on this cluttered freeway
chasing the moon
when no one is around
to watch me unravel
and the darkness is a cover
for another breakdown
I tell myself to breathe
but all I taste is wet salt
all I taste is loneliness
emptying my insides out
I pat down my cheeks
checking for mascara tracks,
hoping to be told
“you look pretty
for a train wreck”
This moment will pass
I tell myself
I tell myself a lot of things
That’s all I ever do
I swear I’ll get better
I swear one day
my car won’t be
a place of mourning
I swear one day
I’ll drive and
I’ll catch the moon


why can’t you want me the way i want you to? / why can’t you want me when i want you to? / do you know how fucking lucky you are to get inside of me? / you’re such an ungrateful piece of shit / please fuck me and be gone / i don’t need you / i never needed you / and i never will / fuck you for not fucking me enough / all i wanted was your body and you can’t even give me that / you’re such a selfish, lazy motherfucker / i told myself i can’t be like this / he wants me to be like this / he gets off on me being like this / they all do / it’s that power trip that gets them hard / don’t be like this / be soft / be soft / but it keeps coming / and i keep sinking / and is something so wrong with me that you’re not begging for it / is something so wrong with me that you’re not breaking for it / is something so wrong with me that unavailable is my type / why is it that desire is so hit or miss / am i not fuckable enough / am i not fictional enough / am i not heartless enough / guess i can’t win unless you fall apart / guess i can’t win until i have your heart dead in my hands / that’s the game, isn’t it / i said i can’t play because i will always lose / but i keep coming back / and it keeps coming / and i keep sinking / and i keep losing / i keep falling apart / my heart already dead in my mouth / my eyes already glossing over / guess it’s on to the next one / and the next one / and the next one / and the next one / cus every time i hold still / i eat myself alive / guess i’m as bad as they say i am / guess i still need another warm body / to forget how cold my heart is



You listen to songs
that sound pretty
talking about things
you know nothing about
You think about sex,
the kind
that would make you beg
the kind
that would make you scream
the kind
that would make you believe in God
You think about lovers
that flash before your eyes
all that regret hanging heavy
in the back of your throat
and washed down
with nostalgia
You dance alone
in your room
watching the way
your hips move
so reckless
touching yourself
like your hands
aren’t yours
You lie in the dark
eyes shut
thighs opening
and closing
like a flower in bloom
like the flower he plucked
from the garden between your legs
Who knew loneliness
could feel so empty
and so good
at the same damn time
Who knew you could bury
your longing
for another mouth
to devour your earth.
For nails and teeth
digging into skin.
For whispers
drenched in salt rain.
Hands clenching roots.
in tulips.
But it sinks
so deep:
This want
for flesh
that tastes


What you want to say:

So who are you going to be. The 45th guy I never see again? The 46th? The 67th? The 120th? The 7th guy from the past to come back and haunt me when there was never any future here? I’ve been trying to pin down my desires, but here you are, thinking you have me all figured out. You think I’m in love with you. You think I’ve only dated assholes. You think I set myself up for failure. You think a lot of things about me for someone who knows little to nothing, who cares little to nothing, about the full breadth of my humanity. I’m tired. That’s all. I’m tired because I’m told to put my faith in strangers I will never see again. Imagine having the same conversation for 4 years with different people and the same dead end. Isn’t that tiring? Isn’t that frustrating? Isn’t that disappointing? They tell me they can relate. But I’m not even talking about forever. It doesn’t even have to last. I can’t even get it to start. All these matches I’ve struck and not a single flame. I’m not talking about love. I’m talking about a seventh date and no regrets. I’m talking about a conversation that cartwheels and soars and never falls flat on its face. I’m talking about playing video games naked at 3am. I’m talking about laughing because you actually said something funny and it wasn’t going to be the last. I’m talking about fucking someone who gives a shit about me. When did giving a shit become equivalent to Love (TM)? When did respect become exclusive to your future spouse? Stop texting me if you don’t give a shit. Stop messaging me if you don’t give a shit. Stop trying to make plans if you don’t give a shit. Stop pretending you give a shit when you never planned on actually giving one because it’s reserved for the imaginary dream girl in your head or your mother or honestly probably just yourself. Stop acting like you give a shit just because you are lonely and horny and you have no options other than to hit up some bitter girl with the weirdly explicit blog. Fucking grow up and get your fucking shit together, and I’m not talking about your finances, I’m talking about the shit you buried, the shit that could make you ugly-cry in front of a therapist if they didn’t beat that out of you yet. You know the biggest fucking curse in my life is being sexually attracted to people I otherwise can’t stand.

What you actually say:

Okay sure, let’s meet up