& would you

  just look at

  that?

  you’re just fine

  without

  him.

  - the body regenerates whenever the hell you want.

  they don’t want us

  to be

  mary sue’s,

  but

  they don’t want us

  to be

  unlikable,

  either.

  that begs

  the question:

  do they even want us

  to exist

  outside of their

  late-night fantasies?

  - i am neither your paper doll, nor your blow-up doll.

  be the

  unlikable

  woman

  protagonist

  (synonyms:

  bitch,

  realistic,

  manhero)

  all the

  men

  just love to

  complain about.

  - it’s so much more fun that way, isn’t it?

  in this novel

  the woman protagonist

  claims she’s not like

  those other girls,

  not because she finds

  their femininity

  to be an insult or

  a weakness, no—

  it’s

  because

  she knows

  all women have

  their own unique

  magic

  that cannot be

  replicated by her

  or any other

  woman.

  - the plot twist we’ve all been waiting for.

  there

  is not

  only

  one

  woman

  body.

  we are

  simply

  women

  who happen

  to have

  bodies—

  shelters

  built to

  protect our

  woman-rage-fire

  from

  hurricanes.

  - every woman is authentic II.

  womanhood

  doesn’t

  have to be

  this twisted

  competition.

  let us

  cultivate

  womanhood

  until it grows

  into sisterhood.

  we’ll sprinkle

  lavender seeds

  into our

  old wounds

  until we’re finally

  h e a l e d.

  - your sisters are not your enemies.

  we must help lift

  each other above

  the flames.

  - women supporting women.

  by all means,

  let your judgments

  die in the blaze.

  - women supporting women II.

  say it

  with me

  now:

  “i am a woman.

  i am a human.

  & i matter with

  no conditions

  attached.

  you may not

  see my worth,

  but i do.

  i do.”

  - dear women.

  say it

  with me

  now:

  “women

  owe

  me

  nothing.

  not anything.

  not

  one

  thing.”

  - dear men.

  “boys will be boys”

  until the day

  we raise our sons

  to practice

  the exact same

  responsibility,

  accountability,

  &

  maturity

  we assign to our

  daughters

  before choosing

  their names.

  - you don’t teach, they don’t learn.

  i’m (not) sorry

  to disappoint

  you,

  but your

  charming smirk

  will no longer

  excuse

  the hurt you

  inflict.

  try

  not to

  flatter

  yourself

  by thinking

  you can

  ever

  b r e a k

  me

  when

  i’m the

  heroine

  who had to

  save

  all your

  favorite

  childhood

  superheroes.

  - diana & i are on a first name basis.

  call me

  bitch.

  call me

  villain.

  call me

  she-wolf.

  call me

  bad omen.

  call me

  your worst nightmare

  wearing a

  red-lipped smile.

  - even better, call me by my name.

  i didn’t come here

  to be civil.

  i didn’t come here

  to sit you down

  with a mug of tea

  & a blueberry muffin

  to coddle you as

  i try to convince you

  that respecting

  my existence is essential.

  you’ve had plenty

  of chances

  & you took a

  hard pass every time,

  so i came here

  to watch your anger overtake

  until you finally

  c o m b u s t.

  - i’ll use your light to read.

  forget

  being ladylike

  (whatever

  the hell

  that means)

  & allow

  yourself to

  show

  the world

  just how

  unapologetically

  angry

  this

  inequality

  makes you.

  let it all

  g o.

  - throw flames like a girl.

  women,

  i implore you:

  build your fire.

  just pretend

  you’re helping

  the men

  survive till spring

  like we were

  raised to.

  let them get

  nice & relaxed

  until

  their lungs

  have more

  smoke

  than they do

  air

  &

  no way

  to call out

  for

  help.

  dear match-boys,

  you know

  all those she-devils

  you executed during

  1692 & 1693?

  well, they made sure

  we inherited their power

  by injecting sparks

  directly into

  our veins

  & planting flames

  at the ends of

  our fingertips

  & imbedding

  one word at the tips of

  our tongue
s:

  “erupt.”

  - katniss only wishes.

  you

  gentle

  (comma)

  strong

  (comma)

  resilient

  (comma)

  d e a d l y

  creature

  (comma)

  you

  (period)

  - you are an unstoppable force.

  i’m

  pretty sure

  you have

  w i t c h c r a f t

  running

  through

  those

  v e i n s.

  - women are some kind of magic II.

  every time

  you “joke” to your other

  red-handed

  rapist friends

  that it’s

  not rape if

  you warn them

  first—

  every time

  you press

  your callous-hard

  hand

  over her

  pink lemonade lipstick,

  “no please no”

  mouth—

  every time

  you think of slipping

  something smooth & sleepy

  into her drink—

  catch us

  in the skies,

  flying by night,

  landing soundlessly behind you.

  we’ll

  be waiting

  (im)patiently with swords

  pushed up our dress sleeves

  &

  blood-rusted spikes

  sticking out of

  our boots.

  (oh, yes

  heads will be

  thump. thump. thumping.

  & r o l l i n g.)

  the knights

  of the round table

  kneel to

  us.

  arthur,

  rip your

  ribs wide open

  & eat your heart out.

  brienne,

  here’s our card.

  we’ll be waiting

  for your call.

  - witch girl gang.

  misogyny

  /m 'säj ne/

  noun

  1: the power-driven hatred of women.

  2: just the way things are.

  e

  e

  -

  misandry

  /mi ' sandre/

  noun

  1: the reactionary, self-preserving hatred of men.

  2: somehow this is going too far.

  in my

  fairy tale

  version

  of the story,

  every

  mattress

  spontaneously

  bursts into flames

  any time

  our “no”s,

  any time

  our silences

  are met

  with the

  father-taught

  resistance

  of

  hands

  over mouths

  & around necks

  &

  arms

  that form

  cages of steel.

  the

  same fire

  that feeds us,

  that nurtures us

  never makes

  bargains

  with the

  guilty

  & we

  always

  walk away

  uncharred.

  - this is the reckoning.

  according

  to the news,

  the woman found

  her husband

  touching

  their daughter

  with his

  ice-hands,

  so

  as he slept

  as safely

  & as soundly

  as

  their daughter

  never would

  again,

  the woman

  considered the gun

  tucked underneath

  their bed,

  but she decided

  that bullets were

  far, far too

  tame

  a

  punishment

  for what he

  had done.

  instead,

  she got out her torch

  & gave him a big

  goodnight kiss.

  “it’s the

  perfect night

  for a fire,”

  she remarked

  to herself

  as she sat back

  & sipped her

  wine.

  - these are the new burnings.

  first,

  i dismembered you

  like a five-year-old girl left alone

  with her first plastic doll,

  fascinated by the way in which

  we are all so easily

  taken apart

  but not so easily

  pieced back together.

  second,

  i laid your limbs out

  all over my kitchen table,

  ever so careful so as not to

  stain the perfectly polished oak.

  in the back of my mind,

  i knew it would be okay even if it did;

  i bleed twelve weeks a year,

  so i know a thing or two about bloodstains.

  (your messed up, mangled limbs

  felt colder to the touch than the icicle words

  you dropped down on my head

  that last night.)

  finally,

  i buried some of your parts

  in the garden where only green things grow;

  i buried some of your parts

  in the spider-webbed walls

  of the abandoned attic;

  i burned some of your parts—

  your smoke cursing

  the silver lightning sky—

  before sprinkling your ashes

  over the sickening sea.

  (i don’t consider myself

  a spidery, spiteful, spitfire woman,

  but if i’m never going to be whole again,

  then neither are you.)

  - how i got over you.

  she

  wished for

  him to burn

  & oh, how that

  motherfucker

  burned

  &

  oh, how

  exquisite the

  new life was that

  she built from his

  blackened

  bones.

  - no longer helpless.

  (homage to the musical Hamilton by Lin-Manuel Miranda)

  gather ’round, gather ’round.

  are you comfortable?

  very good. because this poem goes out to all the match-boys who mistakenly considered me to be a silly little girl unworthy of their truth, unworthy of their love, & unworthy of their respect. know that every time you jerk awake mid-freefall, it was me who pushed you out of your 3 A.M. dreams. & know that whenever you feel that chill creeping up & down your spine on a warm summer’s day, i’m the one who’s been dancing all over your grave. & know that whenever you think you spot a shadow in your peripheral, it’s just me, making sure you never hurt another woman again.

  it’s such a shame that you will finally have to learn that t
here are consequences to treating women like they’re n o t h i n g.

  you may have gotten to walk away, but a piece of me will follow you forever.

  now, isn’t that romantic?

  - vengeance is the new moving on.

  maybe

  i’m not the

  “crazy ex-girlfriend.”

  maybe

  i’m just a person

  reacting rationally

  to the abuse

  & disregard

  for women

  that

  society has

  somehow

  convinced us

  is completely

  normal.

  - i refuse to pretend anymore.

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  do you hate me yet?

  if

  the very

  idea

  of

  standing up

  for myself

  frightens you

  so

  damn much

  then

  i guess

  the power

  you thought

  you held

  over me

  wasn’t that

  impressive

  in the

  first place.

  - fragile masculinity.

  but

  i digress.

  what i’ve been

  trying to say

  this whole time

  is that

  when you

  wrong me

  you’ll be

  expecting me to

  forgive you

  like a

  good, well-mannered

  woman,

  when in actuality

  you’ll finally

  get to know

  what fire tastes like.

  - & no, it won’t be like whiskey.