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.