the soiling

  he fingered her lace, widening the holes, little to no regard that they would never shrink to their original size. it was skin, delicate and servile, ornamental in his eyes. in the end, her porous body was broken, shattered, like silver fragments of mirror reflections of fading brightness, shining even in decline. she held … Continue reading the soiling

will the women bleed too?

    they took to the streets with their faces carved like clay pumpkins mad because the eclipse had come shadow season when all the light turned into  puddles of melted ice   a black man clad in rusted audacity stood in the sacred place on a soapbox made of multi-colored fear that looked like … Continue reading will the women bleed too?