• poetry

PINK NAIL POLISH

with a name that you dare not to say on the bottle,
words that are meant for women on the fingertips of girls.
i can do it by myself, in one fell swoop,
i can make the boys hate me a little less.
because if a girl wants to be treated better,
she will wear pink nail polish.
i wonder if this euphemism,
derivative of red,
a daughter to blood,
watered down with our tears,
turned into a girly pink,
the color of my inner flesh,
will turn one day into a beautiful scarlet.
a little bit of purple, brown, maybe even a black undertone to this red,
sometimes the tears overwhelm this color,
and will dye me a suitable blue overtime

CHOCOLATES

for one day i can love my girlfriends
without a sense of disgust, under the guise of being platonic
maybe one day i will be able to love another girl
or ever better a boy, who does not see me as a girl
but as a boy in a dress
and eats the chocolates that i bought of no value
other than the pieces of myself in the plastic

RITUAL

In front of my mirror I pray everyday
With tools of the occult,
My holy grail, a sacred lipstick,
Make my lips lively like the fruits on the ancestral alter.
A mascara wand, my ritual object,
Expels the evil root-like eyelashes
and turns them into blossoming lotus.
I shake my brush tip eyeliner like a khakkhara
and write a stroke, like calligraphy,
onto my eyes, so that I am protected.
When I am done, I repeat a sutra,
“Glory to earthly desires”

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