the room feels wrong with you in it | a poison ivy poem

your hand was on my neck

and suddenly I was a girl again

*

a woman told me that she’d rip my fucking face off

and I was working

I was working

her finger in my face

*

they roam through the world in their full pockets

owning everything behind the scenes

it’s really not that subtle

and cowards whisper I’m not sure

I’m not sure

I’m not sure

*

women looking for flats in Berlin

men offering that they could save on rent

in exchange for sex

*

I have seen the limits of your friendship

*

it’s not a good sign

if you dread someone’s presence

*

it’s incredible what people choose to endure

and consolidate within themselves

amass and weigh down

instead of confronting malefactors

*

people, first and foremost, choose to become

their own cemetery before disrupting their comfort zones

*

self-advertise and advertise

but they don’t have a voice without a phone

*

your words sound good

but they aren’t good

I can hear your malevolence through my stomach

*

I’ve seen what certain people are capable of

when they are called out for their wrongdoings

how they master the art of self-victimisation

and put up a good show too seductive to disbelieve

lies always gather the most engaging audiences

because they are easier to comprehend

*

I poured my heart into a black hole

and she weaponised my own trauma against me

*

I don’t want to hear that you’re a good person

I need to feel it

e v e r y w h e r e

and trust me, you’ve made yourself known.

Photo by Dids on Pexels.com

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