this is the turning point

the 71st draft, the 16th year

January 1, 2019


we are like a maths classroom.
you are the girl, whose gum has
stained every chair. when i ask you about your coloured hair
you do not tell me.
but instead you reiterate how your
pocked-sized feminism is something you are proud of. 

scrunched up between your palms, are formulae
we learnt in year 10 maths,
call me a discriminate; because you will always forget about me.
i am the ink stains on that paper,
that you throw at the girl in the front row.
your mascara seeks validation like a red carpet.
and i am silent.

i am silent because i am not smart enough to think of a new, creative way to write poetry, 
i am silent because i wake up covered in sweat stains of sin that i can never erase,
i am silent because i try to hard to find pleasure in boys that i have no interest in,
i am silent because i will never be the 26'' girl you dreamed of. 

isn't it funny, when the ink dries from the pen,
and seeps into the corners of the bin,
that i am forgotten just like what you ate for last nights dinner.
and how easy it is to stay silent, at the women who don't really matter. 


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  • January 1, 2019 - 6:12am (Now Viewing)

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