Glimpse
Faltered Catchings
As fate was renewed
In spoiling of ink and songs
The clawfootings nest, awakes
Spirited joy
Gambling and dancing
Mischievous nuscance's
Joy filled pander

A French ladies girlhood
Jestering with courtship
And thievery

Her handed change
Spills of galaxy
Abandon of Greece
Partner of romance
Wonderous mortal boys torment
Goddess of folly and treasure tears
Fall at once
Capture my Irish play
Off with your heathen again
Grab the thatches and begone


Hangle and Lie
The devout of tomorrow
Belie your desire
Blankets of spite await in my idioms

At 6 o'clock on a Friday, I saw her.
Through the window, blocks away.
To and fro in her wooden swing,
She showered my soul's dry bay.

No care for the world, she sat there
This window blocked half my sight
Though distant, her miniature figure,
Felt cradled in my sight.

The sunset glistens her hazel eyes,
They shine as she parts her hair.
Yet time stood still as I watched her there,
A fleeting dream caught in the air.

She was just seven,
She really wanted to go to heaven,
Dreamed of being free,
Loved the idea of there being a "we".
They told her what she can’t wear,
They told her she has to put up her hair.

She was just thirteen,
Staring at glowing screen.
They told her she’ll distract the boys,
They told her she doesn’t have a choice,
At the time she didn’t realise she didn’t have a voice.

She was just fifteen,
Haunted by all the things she’d heard and seen.
Haunted by all of her thoughts,
She just didn’t yet know how to connect the dots.
And they just told her that he was being mean,
They told her that she was the one making a scene.

Now she’s twenty one,
Realised that freedom isn’t always that much fun.
She found out the game’s not fair,
They’ll always paint her with despair.
And that might be okay,
She can always just call it a day.
This caused her to believe,
That there are a lot of things she can achieve.

But she will never win,
They will always say she committed a sin.
She is doing well,
doesn’t care what the whispers tell,
even if she’ll go to hell.
Because that’s the one place they said wasn’t cool,
So maybe she’s the fool,
And heaven is the place that’s not cool.

If she knows that they’re dumb,
Why is she so numb?
She doesn’t know how to feel,
Is all of this even real?

oh yay,
it’s happening again.
nature’s monthly gift,
delivered straight to my underwear
like a subscription box from hell.
no tracking number.
no warning.
just splat!
hope you weren’t planning on dignity today.
but it’s okay.

because this is beautiful.
this is womanhood.
this is the magical time
where your organs weep
and everyone tells you to smile through it.

and the best part?
it’s totally normal!
you know, just a causal internal bleeding event
that lasts 5 to 7 working days.

love that journey for me.

meanwhile—
boys get to walk around
untouched,
unpunched,
completely unaware that their insides
aren’t staging a revolution once a month.
“oh, i stubbed my toe!”
congrats, jason.
try bleeding from places you don’t talk about in science class
and still showing up to algebra.

and let’s not forget
the experts
the boys in gym class
who say “ew” at a pad
like it’s cursed.
buddy, you can’t even make eye contact with a ******
without flinching like it’s a hand grenade.

but sure,
go off.
tell me how strong you are
because you can bench 120
while i’m surviving a bloodbath
with a smile and a midterm.

also—
shoutout to the marketing team
that decided to name pads like
“whisper”
and “cloud comfort.”
what i need is something called
“armour of god”
or “crime scene control.”

but no,
let’s keep pretending
this is sacred.
let’s keep painting it pink
and telling girls
“you’re a woman now.”

oh, am i?
cool.
then where’s my crown?
where’s my painkiller budget?
where’s the week off from school
for bleeding and not burning the building down?

because if men bled once a month?
we’d have national holidays.
paid leave.
parades.
blood themed energy drinks.

but me?
i get called “dramatic.”
for bleeding.
from inside.

so yeah,
super fun being a girl.
five stars.
would recommend.
can’t wait to do it again
next month.

Can you not hear
the murmurs of your skin tone –

Oh darling, your decimal smile,
is a testament to the value you own

Your kiss is an ode, your soul
a ballad; and your body is a poem.

How could a man articulate
your essence, if not through his words –

For these mere words fall short,
even for ones whose pride stands tall

A love letter, I find myself enveloping,
so unwilling to let go; wishing I could
have you as my girl.

There was a girl who danced in the rain.
No one understood her or cared for her pain.
She danced out in the puddles all alone.
No sun in sight, for it had set long ago.
She used the thunder booms to dampen her screams,
As she pondered through the pitter-patter, what everything means.
Sometimes the others would spray her with a hose,
Knocking her glasses off her nose.
They’d shatter,
Masked by the pitter-patter,
They’d laugh at her,
Since it didn’t matter to them.
She was going through a storm with winds like a hurricane.
All that the others saw was a girl going insane.
All that she wanted was someone to listen to her cries,
But all that anybody did when they looked her way was sigh.
She danced throughout the night,
The lightning lit up the sky.
She would have danced till the end of time,
If he hadn’t stepped into her life.
He took her hand,
Stopped her from spinning around.
The rain fades away from where they stand,
And she finally feels found.
The girl who danced in the rain,
Found a partner for her ballet.