a recipe for girlhood
1. i am a kiwi in my mother's hands
hairy, prickly child better
kept silent & hidden
than loud & proud
2. salt the pasta water with my tears
i want to burn your lips
like lemon juice too sour
to drink by the pool
3. carve me out with your favorite
orange pumpkin knife
light me up with spirits
you’d rather keep away
4. i am the apple seed spit out
across the garden
watch me sprout from the fields
new life recovering
5. topple me like the sack of rice
you always lose control of
i am scattered at your feet
a thousand blessed weddings
6. artichoke me until i can
breathe on my own again
a heart too full of
soft fuzz
7. i am the rotten peach
you throw away
after putting it off for days
you learn my insignificance
red
the rainbow turns red in my arms / color after color darkened by your blood / & the weight of all i know / even when i pretend not to know / we haven’t spoken in months & / i do not know how to speak up / it seems too early / to realize / sleep loses all consciousness / sounds too much like / justifying myself / i didn’t mean to sleep with her / i wanted to die every second / & i start crying because / how can the guilt not be mine / a fault tattooed / to my upper lip / across my brow / every place she touched / & i recoiled / & i expanded / & i trapped myself / into acceptance / might as well pretend to be okay / while my stomach runs away / into safety’s arms / but safety is a gun / loaded & aimed / at my throat / at my hands / my knuckles tremble against her skin / & i convince myself / this is what you want / & i convince myself / it’ll be over in the morning / but when morning comes / the bathroom sink isn’t big enough to bleed into / & there are too many mattresses / i can’t escape to / & when i tell them what happened / it rings like admission of guilt / rather than a call / for someone to bail me out / of the prison of my brain / there are bodies strewn across the room / everyone is sleeping / but us / but you / & i am sleeping too / my consciousness has locked the door behind it / left me shaking / on the toilet / in the dark / if i turn on the lights / i might have to see myself / & the rainbow / turned red
Caroline Grand-Clement is a queer, seventeen years old half-time poet, half-time student at an international school in Lyon, France. She dreams of art in any form, falling stars & late night conversations. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in L’Ephémère Review, Rose Quartz Journal, Homology Lit, and elsewhere. You can find her on Twitter, Tumblr or Instagram @octopodeshearts.