Self(less) Love

Ti(red) lines etched in skin
(mar)ked over again
(pain)ted until the blood
swelled to sur(face)
welted br(ail)le and
suffe(red) sweet.

Bruises g(low) in
darkness sundial st(one),
body st(retch)ed over
bones begging
for a cof(fin).

 

Circe’s Mirror

You look at me like I can’t see me— in the dark side of the mirror. These bruises are mine, pinched and pulled— flesh undone I can’t ignore. Unraveled from Circe’s fingertips and you’re enamored with the version of me you think— I am. This extra skin hangs on from times before when I wasn’t mine— stretched and scarred thin. It’s no good, your words— no legal tender here. I’m tucking myself like a too big shirt into pants too tight— can’t afford a tailor. My knees cry, raw rice grains impressed in skin, hidden among freckles— where you don’t look too close. I sink into the mirror, flesh in shadow because that is what I can bear— until you are silent.


Juliette van der Molen is a writer and poet living in the Greater NYC area. She writes completely unladylike erotica and other sundry things. She is a recipient of the Zathom Microfiction Award. Her work has also appeared in Memoir Mixtapes, Lit Up, P.S. I Love You, My Erotica, Horny Poetry and The Junction. You can find more of her writing at Medium and connect with her on Twitter @j_vandermolen. Her debut chapbook, Death Library: The Exquisite Corpse Collection, is scheduled to be released in 2018 by Moonchild Magazine.

Image: my best bruise by c banger (Creative Commons)

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