i got my insatiable grief from my father
and learned to mourn like a dove by my mother it is a gift of elephantine proportions (runs through our veins like a snake) passing down from the old groups to new ones living in the girls that soon grow into women pooling in their Mary Jane shoes (and it looks like this) you are twelve and bleeding for the first time you forgot to change the pad and so you’ve smelled of blood for days the stench of being woman strong; you cannot scrub it off in the days that follow you are filled with nervous fervor you cry for the loss of your self and an angel appears it says ‘i’m sorry-- we thought you’d ordered womanhood’ and you say ‘it’s okay-- it’s all part of the American dream’ Rose McCoy (she/her) is a poet and writer from Morgantown, West Virginia. She often writes on themes of love, loss, and other things that hit her in the heart. She has been published by Graphic Violence Lit, Free Spirit Publishing, Cathartic Youth Lit, and Bullshit Lit, and her debut chapbook, Sink or Swim: Reflections on an Ending, was published through Bottlecap Press in April. When not writing, she can probably be found screaming into the void as she has an existential crisis. Writing updates can be found on her Twitter @24hrmccoy. Comments are closed.
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