Good girls wish to matter – Candice Louisa Daquin

Good girls

Don’t masturbate

They don’t politely rub themselves for hours

In the steam of locked bathrooms

Where no one can hear their need

Good girls

Sit cross-legged, thighs touching, wondering why

They feel bereft

Reminded that sex and its pleasures

Still considered a sin of sorts

When in doubt show comportment

Good girls don’t

Cut themselves and hide the blood

They don’t scream behind crimson closed doors

Chop off their hair

They don’t lose their shit in public and get asked

Are you okay? / Or worse … / Walked past

Good girls hold themselves together with stick pins

and butterfly wings, egg shells and lost names

tar and soot, the remainder of hope chest

stuffing leaking out like snow in 80 degrees

Even as their feathered heart and roiling ocean is fit to burst

Good girls starve the fat bits and cook them slow

God knows know how to please others

Even as they climb further down the hole

And I would say

If you are in need of feasting

Feast on me

There’s white meat and brown

Though dried up and dessicated, none the less

They invite the stranger to sup at table

Though my teeth are small and I whistle in my sleep

Good girls wish to matter to someone

And if they do not

They climb inside a foreign language

Speaking upside down in glue

Let me lap up

This spoilt milk and curdled cream

Good girls may not have been

Tenderized as well as beaten veal

Their warrior hearts may defy the need

To bow and scrape and lose identity

In rush of elbows, knees and worldly zeal

They may

Save their patchwork daughters

They may turn and talk to you on a bus

As it rushes through the traffic like a book of poetry

They may touch your arm and ask

Do you feel as I?

Would you wish to cry?

And hold it in a blue dropper

Waiting for a quiet moment to pour out

Disguise the truth of thinly held together madness?

Good girls may be caught

In-flagranti and rolled over iron bed frame

In contorted pose of acrobats anquish

Many will say afterward

What happened to her? She seemed so well behaved

Before she became a whore.slut.fool.puta.cunt

Good girls may shout

From their confines in grimy mental ward

Behind glass only appear to mouth

Words of female repression and horror

For as a man will take his wont

A women doing the same, is twice judged

By her sisters and herself

Learned behavior owned by masters

Who seek to extricate her voice

The touch of a wave as it crests

Furiously over those barriers we believe

Protect us from harm

She is despite this, a creature of the sea

When they eventually tire of her

She finds salty pathway and is reabsorbed

Good girls are black pearls

They are made by rolling in worldly grit

Until they glow dark beneath the storm

For the unjust – Candice Louisa Daquin

No

the meek did not inherit the earth

the unjust did

they built towers, tore down land, put up artifices

to their glories

giant gnashing flesh consuming machines they were

so long absented from Eden, Hades, Siddhartha, Zarathustra or Paris, TX

they no longer knew what was cruel cruel CRUEL

she knew, as she placed carefully and with some delicacy

her head in the proverbial lions jaw

she smelt salivation, a drunken lust to abhor

even as she stood her ground, smiled, did not give an inch

felt the carpet of the world being pulled UN-magically

with the wormy writhe of tongues imbibed on sarcasm’s quill

addicted to stabbing in the back, anything not approximating themselves

for the unjust then

it is enough to say

I know you

when I published my first poem, you

wrote your friend; ‘she thinks she’s something special but she’s trash’

I asked you to your face

why did you say this? In the same breath turn to me and smile?

I would rather you told me point-blank

the barrel of a gun is more honest than a knife behind your back

had you told me what you really thought of me I would have said

that is your prerogative

your opinion, you can share it when I am gone

but don’t pretend to like me at the same time

do not kid yourself into believing you are splendid

for the unjust

may play that sick lyre of spite

one moment hold you up, while planing your defeat

I have had so many times, this cold feeling in my gut

now it is part of who I am, to mistrust

when you have taken that, I have nothing left to lose

shock me once, shame on you, shock me twice, shame on me

you were embarrassed, outraged to be caught

I felt no need to forgive what you did not believe was wrong

no the meek did not inherit the earth

the unjust did

I see clearer than before

when object to pinch and humiliate

it was once said, they cannot hurt you if you do not care

but I care

for no truth will be spoken without risk

so I risk

in speaking I know there is much desire to stifle and shame

though I have never understood why some find it necessary

for the unjust then

you rule this thin world

I am just a voice

if I could vanish perhaps I would

but then you’d have gotten what you wanted

so I persist