Ruquayyah ♡𝜗ৎ

Dear Janessa,

You’re sweet fruit on a stem like them.

And you feel better, but there’s mold.

And men see it too, they’ll stare and lick.

But you’re still tethered while they’re picked,

and you wear old.

Dear Janessa,

You hold your breath while you drown,

thinking those girls are bruised.  

But only a bit apple browns, 

while you’re in some kind of death,

and yet you’re amused?

Dear Janessa,

You think you’re different.

A rare fox who walks after night,

you say, for air, for distance.

But this paradox of rot in life, 

like your ‘appetite for discipline’,

is just a contradiction.

And you wait for bears to haunt.

Dear Janessa,

You’re so clean, you must ripple blue 

and you’re dying with no flush

under your blush. 

But it’s green to just wipe your dribble

to smother your lust, 

and not try and wash your pillow too.