Empty Rooms and Empty Conversations. Molly O’Neill. Collage. 2020.
Blue, the color I wake up to every morning. The pool you stand inside to tell everyone how immoral they are.
Edna from The Awakening— knowing she can never truly be happy.
I’m a feminist now, and I write when I feel like it—
Why did I wake up thinking about you?
Carton from A Tale of Two Cities.
I draped my body over your shoulders like tired chains—
Until I became one of the jeweler’s creations.
Once upon a time—
Scribble and scratch, manifestation of the mind.
I speak.
To him, to him, and to him.
Sometimes to her.
“I could never be in a monogamous relationship”
I’m some country boy who doesn’t know how to say compass.
Would a cowboy hat perform well for you in the bedroom?
Yee haw.
I could scream.
While your toes and fingers wrinkle like a prune—
Calling out injustices from a luxury home.
Blessed are the bourgeois—
Lucie Manette.
My books are color coded. Dante’s Inferno to the Iliad. From hell to dying for it and calling it honor.
White- St. Thomas Aquinas, we are natural born sinners—
Are you tired of text yet?