collages

(Hi. I hope everyone is doing great. I'm honored and excited to find out that dancing girl press will be publishing my first poetry chapbook called Blue Rebecca later this year. It's the first time I've ever truly felt like a writer, since I struggle a lot with confidence in myself... This morning I worked through some old pieces of mine and edited them, and this is what I came up with. Thanks so much.)    
   
How the objects break my heart when they're grouped together. A deer and a dress and a baby carriage. I'm drunk on all the pretty, dangerous things. Moths crackling in the lamps as we grind against each other fully clothed. I dream of a red house as I finger the rim of a sherry glass. The ghost of a drowned woman singing back. The rooms never dirty but never quite clean. All water lily prints and steam trunks, old letters in rotting envelopes. Everyone knows a girl should be seen and not heard. Far better to be draped pale and lovely in the claw foot tub or gliding down the mahogany staircase. Faces in the candle wax and sad longings in the shadows. My yellow, yellow curls sighing and dripping along the crinkled silk of my nightgown. The lace choking my neck like a pair of hands. Sometimes dark things slither behind the satin curtains. I see the softest suicides in the gaslights, the sleek, scandalous curvature of the armchairs. Every pane of glass, handpicked. My white throat bared for you, the tiny muscles twitching, handpicked.
 
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