Each morning I stitch a scowl
over my smile. Let my eyes sass
every person standing between me
& the bus stop. My eyelashes
icy. Call it survival. Call it eyeliner
so crisp it could kill a bitch.
You look prettier when you smile
says the traffic guard & I cut
out his tongue: a pet snail
slimy in my palm. Each crooked smile
that comes my way—I take all their lips
& mount them to my wall.
Ay can I get your number?
& the air sucked through my teeth
cuts the windshields open, dead
day of summer. Don’t fuck with me
bitch. I’m queen of the clap back.
Thesauruses on my throne.
Got dead bodies in my closet.
Cause of death? Thirst. Cause of death?
Frostbite, burn, too hot, too cold.