Jane

The skirt fits you nicely,

so dance in it with more terror.

I dug a trench in the crook in your hips

and grounded it into shards

I gifted you the powder.

I called them bones.

I powdered your cheeks and watched the industrial acid rain.

I hid the gun in your vertebrae.

You were born my girl so 

no need to try to be a child.

Load up your arms

and your legs.

Lend me your helmet for a little while 

and help me

unzip your skull to fill with it a radio cue.

Push forward! Forward!

Let me make myself a camp in it.

Mary Janes that cannot be a home anymore

so it becomes, like us, rest assured, 

the destroyed and the atomized destruction.

The machete.

My dull razor on dirt-laced stubble

and I shave the hatches off of your fake-leather tanks.

So where are you going 

stomping on Gaea’s porch

when I am the one to reinvent her? 

In this girlhood 

with a ground made more for war than play,

I watch you make more bomb craters

and stuff it with a cold pearl and a pair of wings. 

Maybe it was folded into the shrapnel

that ruptured like a lip before it kisses.

You tell me it is a stalemate

and I say I am winless but 

I gifted you the breakage that still rings in my ears.