MY FRIENDS ALL WEAR YOUR COLORS

YOUR FLAG FLIES ABOVE EVERY DOOR

BUT BITCH I SMELL YOU BLEEDING

AND I KNOW WHERE YOU SLEEP

DO YOU DOUBT ME TRAITOR

THROW YOUR BODY IN THE FUCKING RIVER

IM THE CUNTKILLER

(LINGUA IGNOTA, DO YOU DOUBT ME TRAITOR)

last night I dreamt your ex

stabbed you 23 times

as the cat got your tongue

and the vultures your cunt

this one ain’t about the men

who are bad enough

this is about the women

who are worse

she shows me a pattern

of betrayal on her back—

what doesn’t kill you, I figured,

will be cast doubt upon

who protects you from

a mother that kicks you

aside if she can have an

abuser’s attention instead

why do women write

feminist stuff but lick

abusers‘ arses for a career

untrue to both worlds

if the narratives have

changed, why won’t they