JULIA GAY
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red

11/6/2016

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he whistles
shouts “hermoooosa”
shouts “china”
shouts “sexy”

his words 
dripping with longing
scramble out his throat and under my skin
they nestle, unwelcome
behind my ears
at the nape of my neck
between my breasts

I want to stare daggers at him
I want to throw daggers at him
picture his body skewered with knives
streams of blood pouring out
leaving puddles of red
a deep, vibrant red 
a shimmering red
a sexy red

but the only rushing blood is flooding to my cheeks
the only vibrant red is bursting from the sun
The sun, real heavy to the ground
my head’s real heavy to the ground

and I think to myself,

my skirt wasn’t this short when I left the house
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    my poetry

    tells a story of a baby girl born in the sunsets of Ganzhou, raised among the steel mills of Cleveland and surviving in a world that pinches hard at her wind pipes.

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