With Molotovs in my fingers I text you it’s over
You will no longer fuck me in the dim lights of your room
Somewhere between the dirty dishes and the forgotten laundry
Where it smells like you never opened the windows
Never dusted
Never cleaned the cat’s litter box
Never swept
And you never even really showered for me
And I swear I’ve seen stains on your boxers
And I don’t know what sort of nasty bitches you brought there
But they stole the earrings I left
My grandma’s earrings, gold earrings of seconds before she died
Or maybe you sold them
For a lucky day at the bets or your last day of rent
You never even told me I was pretty
That you liked my hair that you loved my perfume
Or the shape of a body I’ve battled
Yes, it is true that sometimes you whispered I looked nice
And all those times I said sorry what
And asked you to repeat
Because I wanted to hear it again
Or wanted you to add more
But you still never would
You would tell me don’t worry
You would say never mind
Or nothing or whatever or fine
And then you’d go on and just fuck me
As if I never existed
As if I were air
Half a glass of water
A little spark
A post-it note
Something to just want
To just find
To always have
To rely on
To lay on
To sleep on
To shout at
To stare at
To strangle
To bruise
To damage
To hurt
To keep
To fight
To throw away
To take back
To set on fire
To kiss
To hurt
To hug
To damage
To leave
Every time.
The same thing every time.
That this is too deep and it’s getting too far
That this is too strange and you can’t
Too much and you won’t
Commit wait understand change forgive forget start again
Words that you just throw there without meaning
Replaceable really
Excuses like I didn’t text you I was tired
Rain check I’m asleep
I know you’re shy so wait in the other room while my friends get ready to leave
And was I ever shy always naked in the windows online
Always ready when you called at midnight
Exactly
And what’s even the point I wonder
Of starving so much
Of saying it’s fine
Of forgiving it all
Of shaving my legs
Of nice underwear
Of dancing ‘till fainting
Saying no to the others
Working more shifts
Giving all that I had
Or squats on repeat
Avoiding to breathe
The marks on my skin
(I told you they were just scratches-
they were the bones of my corsets)
Nails always fresh
Hair always clean
Carrying lube in my bag to be ready on demand
Leaving letters on your pillows when I left
Writing poems that you didn’t read
Crying tears that you didn’t see
Sharing secrets that you didn’t get
Showing strength that you didn’t like
Telling stories that didn’t matter
Wearing dresses that you didn’t notice
Collecting postcards from the world while you stayed on your couch
Reading the universe while you still couldn’t spell---
And maybe there is just no point
None at all
Not now and not ever
It was just set to happen
For me to be
That I don’t care about money
That I don’t care about hell
That I do what I can
That I wear what I want
That I do what I want
And don’t care if I can’t
So what is left of me after you
And it’s just not a mess
Because I pay my bills travel hard dance a lot
Have a baby love the baby spoil the baby
Learning Russian writing poems loving life
Looking pretty dressing naked high in heels
And a mami in bikinis
So who’s winning
Plus you still owe me big time
Though you like to forget
You said you’d repay me-
But where is my check
So it is with Molotovs in my fingers that I never text you
Because you don’t deserve my words
Not now and not ever or for as long as I decide
And what about this poem you can say
But mi amor really mi amor this poem isn’t for you
I’m writing because I can write
You’re only a topic
The sun shining the rain pouring a rose dying
A clock stopping a day ending a dog barking
You’re only a topic
And if you ever listened or if you ever understood
You would know that I’m a Russian Formalist
That it’s the form that matters and not the content
Ask Malevich-The Principle of Flickering
But you weren’t listening
So why should you now
You just go
Away from the memory and history
You don’t exist and you never existed
And this poem is how I’m not telling you but really I’m telling you
Go suck a dick we’re done
Just go
Soviet Juliet
This poem was created by one of the participants in our most recent Creative Writing to Process Experience Course and published with their consent.
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