Maths

TEN: desperate texts

NINE: lies told

EIGHT: missed calls

SEVEN: times cried

SIX: blurred letters

FIVE: cancelled plans

FOUR: left items

THREE: cold teas

TWO: people screaming

ONE: us

My Life is Little Wins

My eyes are daggers;

Your cheekbones swords.

If I do not look,

I do not invite the fight.

The only shape my mouth knows is sorry

My lips are sealed lest I

Shrink further inside my skin.

Streetlights twinkling like stars,

Arranged by God,

To guide ones path in circles.

Are you scared of me,

Little street rat?

My eyes are daggers

You know how to use your teeth.

But I know a man with swords

And no apologies

Not for you, little street rat,

Not for me.

Anarchist of Romance

“One day you will ask me which is more important? My life or yours? I will say mine and you will walk away not knowing that you are my life.” -Kahlil Gibran

–

He looks at me,

really looks,

“You’re an anarchist of romance.”

He laughs.

“Anarchist of romance.”

I like the way it

rolls

But still maintains an element

of formality.

A title ascribed to the back

of somebodies public face.

Or perhaps to the comic-book

version of you.

–

I intend to use it at weddings,

on my Linked-In profile,

on my Tinder.

I’ll make business cards

and hand them out at parties.

“Molly Newhouse

Anarchist of Romance”

–

I’ll post them to ex-lovers

with their second hand words

that no longer fit with my

Anarchist vocabulary.

–

As a blossoming weed of hate,

I introduced myself:

“Bitch.”

Bitch didn’t ward away, those with little desire to stay.

–

“Anarchist of Romance” shows

that I’m experienced

in ruining you.

References available upon request.

Just ask about the places that I’ve been,

the lies I’ve told.

Better yet, ask me when

I told the truth.

WANT

“If someone does not want me, it is not the end of the world. But if I do not want me, the world is nothing but endings.” -Nayyirah Waheed

To dance around with another man’s soul around the fire,
To control the flames around my tongue,
To create a thing of devil’s beauty,
Between my body and another,
Is something my soul smiles easy at.

–

To have moments of crisp silence when heartbeats stop,
To feel borrowed blood pump inside my ears,
To reach out to the side of the bed only to find blankets,
Curled up like newborn babies in the cold,
Is something my heart silently disintegrates at.