poetic – Thistle Thoughts

The Fulcrum

there was never a
safe space for her
inside a body,

The city noise ordinance
keeps vibes low

Safety in a midnight swim.

there are brittle
cicada shells beneath
our feet, i’m in them,
i’m a shade, an exoskeleton

forbidden closeness / pure proximity /
one hand on my shoulder / nothing
but gymnasium breeze on my
lace draped waist

muting Morse code,
calculating equations

taught to catch husbands,
like these men catch fish

that girl cringes at
every hashtag that
tears open old wounds
now

who can part lips
about the unspeakable?

we’re
bracing for an
Anne Bancroft breakdown