I flagrantly disregard tradition
in turn, tradition ignores my existence
I am singular. Yes.
The world, my world, calls it a sin.
As if mercy comes with a ring.
Glow glorious, Sister, spread your wings.
I am forever jumping off bridges just to see
if I can fly.
I can’t but the bruises always fade with time.
There’s a certain prurience about you
as if the air itself doesn’t know who you are
or what you can become
I am all grace and no heart
I gave it away. Broken things are cumbersome.
I desire to be a mannequin
Plastic perfection, grimace constructed into a smile,
composed of frozen profanities and perfect breasts.