TINY PANCAKES

Like Kerosene Yes, it’s daily that we move into each other—but this morning I was separate even from myself— my hands were shovels, I had mosquito netting for hair, and the insect beating against the night was my heart. My name was hallow and the sky was made of shale when I walked into a part of morning I’ve never seen: the sky still heavy, still smoldering with the nightmares of others, the drunkenness and sorrow rising like dew, like fog, like smoke back into the clouds. Suddenly, my face was wet with it. I wanted to lie down with it. To rest against the almost exhausted night. Uncertain of what to do there I started dividing the layers, the sediment, thinking: Usually I sleep through his sadness. And the morning asking: Why do you keep track of the middle of the day when you should be waxing the moon? How can these young fragile branches be left out in the darkness, and who set that darkness wandering inside your heart? Who can your love ignite, like this, like kerosene? And then the sky lit the morning. And then I went in to set my own house on fire. And then I lay down next to you: a body filling with feathers or with snow asking: and who are you that my love can light like this, like kerosene. Olena Kalytiak Davis

My god I love being mansplained to By a teenage boy About writing about rape Especially because I am a 26 year old woman With a literature degree from a prestigious college Who has been raped And written about it

Me: wow I have none dollars how did this happen Also me: *buys a vintage Balenciaga sweatshirt* Additionally me: guys come on

Today I am wearing a sundress that I bought at uniqlo last year for $20 and three different men have told me I look amazing. I am never paying real money for a garment again.

found a bunch of poems from senior year bennington and some of them are good here is one The War If I say that there is salt in one arm and raise it above my head, then we must conclude that the salt will flow through the body into the other arm. It will change sides. You can’t see the salt but if you trace a fingertip from my shoulder to my wrist, the crystals will nick you. I lower both arms and fold my knees¬–salt is so many rocks. If you take my arms, the fight is over.