#queuties

Akaashi Zine - Anticipated Preorder Date

My mother told me to paint my face and smile like I want him. She told me to pull the corset of her expectations tight suck it in, suck it all in, until I can’t breathe under the weight of her eyes. She told me to comb my hair, pin it with her smiles be nice, Allison, be lady, chef, mother, virgin and whore because your life is not about you, not anymore. Lock me up and throw away the key; I’ll climb the walls for a glimpse of the sky. I want to scream—princes are weak; they hide behind steed and steel and what their mothers told them I would be. When the apples have fallen from my cheeks and the pins in my hair are rusted in place; when the key has fallen to the bottom of the well and I’ve stopped climbing— I am worth the rescue. Obedient. Kind. Demure. But I want to make him work for it. Show me what that sword can do— maybe I’ll light a fire and fight too. Mother promised knights in shining armor and white horses, but he’s a boy in tin foil and paper crown. I’ll scrub my face, burn this corset to ashes, take these pins and pick the lock. Nice is blue lips, pale skin— complacency on a death bed. Good girls who shed their wings— I am not nice. I am woman, raw and untamed; a forest fire that will melt his sand castles to the ground, melt my tin-foil savior, burn him like his paper crown. These princes are weak; I want to ride dragons.

I burn in blue, methane veins—Icarus, cast in ice. I fly farther from your heat. Fault lines in my head— the bed gets bigger when you leave me here; out of oxygen. I’m stuck breathing through ice water in my lungs. Eyes frosted, I’m blind, gasping—airless. Without your dirt, your earth, sky and sun to ground me, anchor me, I float, free-falling. I am clouds of ash and pounds of dust; I rage; Queen of the sea and all its moons. I cut my tether to you and your sky; forsake your sun and all your stars. I am cast in ice. I fly farther from your heat— I burn in blue, methane veins. Icarus.