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Огурцы особенно в апреле
Девушки едят чтоб молодиться,
Чтобы потекли ручьи и трели,
И чтоб ахуела Царь-Девица.
По ночам не спят о них мечтая,
Бэд-нот-бэд, по кончикам снуют,
Я другой страны такой не знаю,
Где салат так вкусно подают.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Paris, 2020 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power.

👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
In this poem, the body isn’t an object — it’s a participant in spring. The cucumber becomes a symbol of ironic sexuality, the salad a kind of cultural ritual. Female embodiment isn’t erased here — it thrives, with humor, without shame or restriction. It’s a manifesto for the right to take pleasure in oneself.
Lynn May 2
How am I?
How am I?
I am oppressed.
Here, I am not free
Or heard
Or respected.
Here, I am told what to do with my own body.

And I can’t help but wonder—
How dare they?
How dare they force me into a piece of cloth,
One they know I will disregard?
How dare they back me into a corner
And wrap me in a headscarf?
How dare they oppress me for my freedom
And cover me as if that's the answer?

Why punish the victim,
When that won’t stop the victor?
Why shun the abused
While glorifying the abuser?

How dare they expect me to listen—
How dare they,
When I have a fire that can’t be put out
Not even by my blood and tears.
Wrote this while fuming over what an uncle told me + something my parents said earlier lol
envydean Feb 2016
The black ink
Permanent against his skin
A protection
A ward
Against evils

No demons can get
Inside his body
To control and possess him
To tear his mind apart

His body is his
With the tattoo
On his chest
In permanent
Black ink
for @tattooedsam on Tumblr :) Poem is inspired by their URL :)

— The End —