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Stagnant Woman

And perhaps it's merely a phenomenon that

slipped out from the societal womb after the men were born

That brainwashed millions of little girls who

wanted to make Daddy Happy

But here untouched I am as good

as a pool of stagnant water that

festers slowly in an orange sun 

What good is my soft skin if it doesn't please another?

What good is the valley of my waist rising

to meet the hip if the only hand that touches

it is my own in absent minded thought?

Waiting Waiting staying Awake

For the sake of dreaming with 

open eyes the dreary company

of a man who exists in less than

two dimensions trapped in my

luxurious imagination 


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'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…