The first time it happened I was 14

I start smoking and stop again and start and stop

MALINA is the name I decide on for them all

I drink wine and start to believe in hunger 

I send random nudes

and

empty myself

of all meaning 

Outside:

again staples of silhouettes of words

block all ways

since –

There is a vacuum of 

things

I cannot bear to 

carry on my tongue 

but only my face as a 

Please, Please, Please 

and let me cover my eyes

to hear better

or are you going to read my face as:

My father’s favorite nickname for me 

was dirty whore

So he turns into a threat 

and this face

mother will say

is so beautiful to look at

and all you’ve got

to throw at their feet

and

BEG, BEG, BEG

and everything

I want to kill,

father will say

So I am alive

and my face

remains

carefully curated 

Sometimes-

I punch 

my fists

against the wall

until I see blood

and use it as lipstick

More often –

my head is stolen

and I cannot keep up

with the steps

and it’s the fault of a fatherly figure

or Bachmann

drinking black milk

for Celan 

Always-

the denotation of words

gets lost

and wants to be 

unrecognizable

a non-pain 

in phantom worlds

that screams 

And all I can do

is 

loudly

laugh