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With Molotovs in my fingers I text you it's over

Updated: Mar 16, 2021

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


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.


We're currently crowdfunding for a devised theatre project created by sex workers. We want to use theatre and tell our stories to fight against societal stigma and increase the representation of our community. This can only be possible with your help, view our Crowdfunder campaign here.


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