"Mother Dearest"

Lindsay Blake

‍

Mother dearest

Shhh

Quiet now

Nice girls don’t speak of such things

Not out loud

We imply

Perhaps allude to

But good lord

We don’t

We could never

Speak such things

So loud

Proud

Volatile

All consuming

I bet she told you

It’s all my fault

She says with disdain

And dread

And narcissistic tendencies

Seething from every pore

Pass the buck

A goat to be scaped

Never her

Of course not

Don’t be silly

Hush

Shhhhh!

Not out loud!

QUIET NOW

mother dearest

Daddy dearest

Wait

Shhhhh

No you can’t say that

Don’t make it weird

Pretend it’s okay

Smile

Perform

What a good girl

No one would

believe you anyways

Stop

You’re overthinking

Overreacting

Don’t be so

Goddamned

Emotional

Toughen up

I bet he told you

I asked for it

She was completely

out of control

What could he do

Seething with

trite platitudes no one

asked for or needs

or believes

He stammers

He cries out

It’s not my fault

I’m sorry

Temper temper

It’s okay

Bruises heal

Shhhhh

Not so loud

BE QUIET

Shhhhhh!

daddy dearest

‍

"Just a Girl"

Lindsay Blake

‍

All they ever see is

one shot two shots

three

They’ll never be able

to keep up with little me

She’s nothing more

then some fun for a while

She’s nothing more

just a girl, just a pile

of broken(ness)

He’ll never take me home

to meet his dear old dad

But man what a night

think of all the fun we had

Nothing more

then some fun for a while

Nothing more

Just a girl, just a pile

of broken(ness)

She’s so fucking cool

Desperately dying to be seen

She makes everyone

hang on to

every word she says

Just beginning to live up to

everything she was told

she could never be

She’s so much more than fun for a while

She’s so much more than just a girl

She finally sees

She’s so much more

She’s so much more

She’s so much more

She’s so much more

‍

"Terms of Reproductive Consent"

Allison Bunt

‍

the plump lips

curved

southward

sitting

cracked and broken

marinating in salt

a cave

filled with

silence

echoes

[why not?]

crimson red

drips from men’s ears

with the mere thought

of my voice

MY voice

MY voice

the saying goes

my body

my choice

yet it becomes

my body

2

maybe once you are OLDER

my choice

maybe you will | change | your mind

my body

maybe you will meet [someone]

my choice

maybe they will want kids

my flawed femininity

must not risk

the loss of:

man’s autonomy

man’s preference

man’s choice

muted

deafened by each

restrained step

backwards

until Father Time

is satisfied

with pleasure

‍

"IED"

Tory Thibodeau

‍

A contorted pipe cleaner, 

pumped full of hormones. 

‍

She’s sweet the second 

I walk in the room. 

It’s painfully obvious her smile 

is for my benefit. 

I can feel how tired she is 

and I feel bad that my fear 

and pain are making her work 

even harder to mask it. 

Then I feel guilty 

because it’s not make me feel 

any better so what 

is it all for? Really? 

‍

The single use paper 

crinkles as I scooch down 

‘til my “Bum hangs off the edge”

I inhale deeply, the nitrous 

making me dizzy, borderline 

nauseous. 

But anything is better than 

what’s coming next. 

I’m intensely focusing

on the hissing from 

the canister to my right

every time I inhale. 

Does she think I’m taking 

too much? 

Not enough? 

‍

The speculum feels more 

intrusive than I remember. 

A sort of internal pressure 

as she cranks me open

and takes a look under the hood. 

She’s more talkative than 

I’ve experienced. 

I didn’t even need to ask her 

to tell me everything she’s going 

to do before she does it. 

“Just a little pinch.”

Why is it always just a little pinch? 

Maybe if someone told me 

a big pinch, my expectations 

wouldn’t do so wholly steamrolled. 

She clamps my cervix 

with the sharpest pair of 

pliers in existence. 

The spray on lidocaine, 

which is a recent addition, 

helps a little. 

That,

along with the gas, 

make it bearable. 

‍

She inserts a sounding rod, 

measuring me with “another 

little pinch.” 

The gas is making it hard 

to stay in control. 

I’m increasingly aware of how 

hard I’m squeezing my moms hand. 

How hard I’m squeezing 

my moms poor hand. 

But it’s almost over, 

“One more big pinch” 

that almost makes me break 

my vow of silence. 

I will not break, 

I will not succumb

to this piece of pompous, progesterone pumped plastic. 

And then I hear 

a lighthearted, little 

“Oh!” 

Like a pen rolled off 

the side of a table. 

Or the lid popped off

 of your morning coffee. 

Mixed relief and fear 

wash over me. 

It didn’t hurt as much

as I was expecting. 

“Too blunt…” 

“Tight…” 

I thought we were done, 

why isn’t she pulling 

the speculum out? Why 

does it sound like something 

went wrong? Three pinches. 

It’s supposed to be three pinches. 

“...stretch you out…” 

“...feel a pinch for about 15…” 

I hardly have time to register 

the terrifying reality of the

words spoken to me 

before something is tearing 

it’s way through my insides

and I’m convinced 

I’m breaking my moms hand. 

‍

My whole body shakes 

as I clamp my jaw shut. 

I will not give in, 

I will not lose against this stupid fucking thing. 

‍

15 seconds stretch 

before me and I don’t 

know how much time has passed. 

I’m stuck in limbo, unable to 

keep time as the most unnatural 

feeling scratches and scrapes 

and tears its way through me 

to the point that the pain 

becomes a searing heat 

spreading throughout my body, 

a number euphoria from the agony 

that etches itself into the fibres 

of my being. 

After hours worth of agony 

packed into a tight 15 seconds 

it stops

and my forced, calculated breaths 

come a little easier. 

After hardly a second 

to breathe, I feel the applicator

get pushed into me, like someone 

is fucking into me with a 

twelve inch needle. 

I’m sucking in as much gas 

as possible, I want 

the nausea, I want 

the sick, I want 

to be dead, I want 

to be anywhere else, 

anywhere away from this. 

And then it’s pushed into my uterus, 

tearing and shredding 

every nerve ending in 

its path as she wiggles it 

twisting and turning as I finally 

break. Squealing and 

whimpering like a wounded animal 

as a heaving sob 

lurches from inside me 

and a tear runs down my cheek. 

The room reacts in 

vocalizations of sympathy. 

‍

The pain ebbs,

“I’m just gonna cut the string.” 

“Now taking out the speculum.” 

and every muscle in my body 

sinks into the sea-foam green chair. 

Then she’s done, 

hands rested on my knees 

and looking down at me, 

perpetual smile on her lips 

as she tells me how good I did. 

‍

I think bleakly about 

all the reasons I’m 

doing this and how 

none of them

are worth it.