Poetry

dear ma, when you hold my face with a look of dismay, in your hands and give it a “not pretty enough” brand, it hurts. it hurts like...

blow the candles; make a wish. what did you wish for? to make her skin a little less doty. to make her hair a little less shabby. to make...

they always warned her about broken mirrors: the way it’s pieces could pierce the skin, blood trickling towards her finger tips. but they...