Edited by Alloe Mak

The Rorschach blots beneath my sleeves:

two white swans streaming down this tunnel of love—

or an iron waterfall

staved off by pills below—

or a bated-breath virgin, winning the war but

losing her last name.

Left unsaid:

I’m betrothed to my mother’s walls of calligraphy,

yet I love best alone.

I pray the Lord our souls to keep from thy wicked lips.

Your ‘benevolent’ Creator couldn’t save me from mine.

I feel the rush of soldiers in the field 

fighting against freedom,

steel toeing my skull when I disobey.

If only I could believe that what’s best for me

is letting their mission drip into me like morphine.

But I’m no honest woman.

I only cower, hoping no one remembers

how much they must fear me.

The divine will is to break it.