Emma’s birthday party
Aftermath
Open a window
Burn the green top in the sink
Watch it burn. 

Axelle’s birthday party
Smash his head through the living room’s window
The girls will thank you for it tomorrow morning.

Women bond over pain. 
Is it okay for me to say that? 
Am I allowed to be angry? 

14th of july, nice day for a miscarriage. 
Bloody tiles;
Bloody Mary.

Wanna go to the pool? 
Cannonball style
How far can you see inside a glass child?

When do I get to be angry?

Tell me, how much?
I’ll take it.

I know, I need to sleep;
But do you want to hear about my future baby names list on my phone’s notes app?

When do I get to be angry?

I hate you. 
I hate you. 
I hate you. 

You are him; I hate him. 
Take off the Virgin Mary pendant from the Vatican.
Don’t punch with your thumb inside, you’ll break it.
I broke my thumb once, somebody slammed a door on it.
My gods are girls in bathrooms.

We bond over pain.
Those urging the beauty in suffering get death in paper cuts.
I could break your arm.

I have been eighteen for four years now. 
Getting into clubs on looks.
I am allowed to say it, I’ve been ugly enough for it to be defining before.
How darling.

I’ve always wanted a pet.

And if I hold both colonisers and colonised in my wine’s blend,
what am I but the fruit of supposed hatred?
I am outside the building and I will crawl through the walls once I’ve smashed enough windows.

You will say my name one day. 
Not the easy one,
The one in foreign tongue,
The one you will have to repeat,
I will hold you to it.
As the birds taking off at dawn hold knowledge.
And when the sun offers the epiphany of life, I hope you realise it’s your mother opening the curtains of your childhood bedroom.

Care is a privilege.
I am not given the bliss of walking the streets with my eyes shut.
Let it be known I speak because they only silence us by strangling.
I will not be the one choking on my own spit.

Wipe your mouth of the blood you’ll draw biting your tongue until I am done talking.
Taste iron this once and again when your skull hits it.
I am in your walls at the witching hour.
I hope for your sake you learn not to wince when your own consequences turn it all to sour.

Women bond through pain.
I will make you understand.

I am the crazy bitch who grins after I’ve set my jaw for the punch.
Yes, it’s true I almost broke my best friend’s living room window; because he recorded girls, because they asked nicely and I didn’t—and I do not mind broken glass. 
Because if old white guys can call it a performance, I will give you the one of your life.

I will make you understand.
And I will repeat it as I know you have trouble getting the point.

Because I have every right to be angry, and I would like to break your arm, but women can hold their impulses.

I will make you understand.
How your gods turn obsolete. 
Because fathers fight for chimeras. 
And mothers fight for human lives.

Your gods are turning obsolete.
GRAB ‘EM BY THE DICK.
Go fetch.
I am giving you a head start.
I will make you understand.