Broken Hymens

To the one who taught me about womanhood.

Clear it spirit?

Wait, no.

Bring it back.

Lemme hear it again.

Let me hear what you said

before you went ghost on me, Kennedy

I should call you Robert the way you hurt me just like my Father

You go fa la la and hold your eardrums

when my words turn vile

And I reach for a stiff one

Realizing the sexy woman trope has expired

So here's to tossing out the fishnets and lingerie

Because I need you to go back to what you said that first day

And I need to go back to who I met, to that place

Where everything was colorful, and full of inspiration.

Not dangerous, stale, and damn near complacent

I'm writing to you with a cigarette getting real close to the filter

And I've dropped ash on my thigh

And there's a look in my eye

That I'd like you to see, or take a picture of

I'll give you space to interpret the meaning

Get it yet?

It's the perfect response to treason

Author's Note

I always wanted to go to film school but could never afford it. So I befriended the film students instead. Everything they've taught me is now stuck in my head.