GOOD GIRLS
tonight i’m yours and the ribbiting frogs don’t sob so loudly they rebuke us for our rhymes we are poets-gone-green
god damned this last bit! of fruit on my lips, licking it off like a kiss, sucking my teeth the stringy bits get caught in the gaps. gaping mouth spreading SPEAKSPEAKSPEAK but no words so we eat up
where; the source of tears??? searching searching never found we pretend to play pretend, but we perform! born for the stage
all of us, cult-like liars, petting and purring, giggling with other girls, our girly giggles goodness gracious. oh my, we are never gonna get old
your daddy will never get you pregnant, you’ll never sit right above the headboard, rub your calf with your toes, ask that screaming now baby, you married your daddy, my dearest and we ate candle-cake like we wouldn’t burn the ceilings were spinning
it’s only natural, natural as any other plant or bunny-rabbit hopping
along a long split-in-two tongue. i will never sleep on the sofa of a roommate i don’t like he’ll never come onto me, i’ll never need to attempt preference when he tries to put his hand way up there feeling my ribs, counting counting, i kinda like that he likes me even when i yell NOSTOP am i bad now? you grinning yes yes yes a worthless wreck always. you make me feel so good, the very best one of yours
and only you have the power. you’ll never tell him ‘cause you know it would just turn him on, you hate having sex with that blood-fucker anyway. you should have seen us
it’s so beautiful they can’t have it we don’t let ‘em, we’re country boys and i wear your flannel in the bath-tub, on the lake floating like a pretty princess or drowned bird take your pick prick, i take videos of you upside-down, of the litter, boobs flattened against you, running down your neck down your chin like goo
in dark light like sticky syrup on sunday. pancakes on paper plates we wolf them down we’re STARVED you throw them up i pat you on the back say good girl good girl over and over
but go-go girls! roller skates and screaming ice cream in winter, desperate. i’m so fed up i lick my fingers, spit and then you’re spat-on like a sprat or a sprite that’s us, we were
we’re never gonna get old at this rate,
cigarettes stuffed down your side of the car recyclables out on thursday you remind me, finally hitting the brakes me flying backward you laughing i am panicked; we’re only still just girls please
there is good here we’ve found it in this moment flying through space, it feels still though on-and-on-and and oh! we’ve cracked the code we’ve been searching for our whole lives and this they’re never gonna get it never ever ever you swear it i mouth it i lick your lips we’re sworn to our unluckiness
they get everything they don’t ask for BUT WE
you pave the way for my success i stand on your shoulders picking the berries
i pick apart what i love you store them in a basket
by your bed!
every now and then you look at the photos you swear we’re never gonna get old i worry i worry i still panic at night
the movies aren’t like how we imagined i keep losing whenever i think i’m gonna write one, all those scripts are scraps sitting in a pile on my desk waiting for you to read them. never getting old
you never will you don’t have the time we’re out of god-damn time i’m waiting why the fuck am i in wait for what? for money for mothers for men
i don’t like any of those things not enough to stand mouth-gaping tits flashing hands up to my eyes hiding like everything else is not on display, surprised at my own nudity. i'm quite the sight, quietest shy girl in the whole damn class, guess who's most fuckable now
this is what i am, you are what you swore we never swore you wouldn’t be
you always knew but i never did. i just figured you’d get out figure it out whatever 'cause i surely did the opposite i sat at an opposing table studying myself and i decided to let myself pass out into an abyss i named her abysmal because i thought it was a pretty name, pretty cute name for two pretty girls we used to be nice and i remember patting you down your spine, vertabirds clicking, just like a house-pet good girl good girl
you told me “you should be a poet, posie.
see how it turns out.
eat broken glass;
pray they pay you for the language
only you can understand.”
well i am now poppy. i reek like wet house-dog and i sit naked in the candle-light and i regret and hope regret hoping so hopelessly giving you what i saved i saved up a bit i was never bad with money
never counted my scars ‘til you showed me yours
and now we wriggle in bed and try to get comfy but i can feel you writhing beneath the sheets it irks me it irritates me i’ve spoiled you i’ve spoiled this. they didn’t have to 'cause we did it together 'fore they even found out
STILL SPEECHLESS. you are the only person alive and you let my misery become yours, you consumed it, NOT the other way around mine first mine first at least
you got it SECOND-HAND took it from me and gawked
i cannot let you win when i am so close to the quiet hum of annihilation. we will get old and live alone but we will not be ready because we can’t be alone without the fear of each other in the bedroom.
bethany violet, 15, adl - australia (escaping soon hopefully) ✯ IG: @bethanyvioletlines
“bethany violet lines is a fifteen-year-old writer from adelaide, australia. she is a mass-consumer of all mediums of art, particularly books and cinema, and is a poetry enthusiast. she hopes that her word vomit art will invoke something uncomfortable and delighting in her audience, as it does in her. she hopes that she is able to articulate both intensely particular experiences and universal feelings, for those that have not found the right words yet. to whom it may concern, she is on the lookout for publishing opportunities.”