i’ve whispered

and screamed

for a truth i’ve never touched

you’re breathing one as you read

so please tell me

it’s all just figments of rotten bits

from an imagination that found the wild

and ran too far

tell me

that i still cry when i break

even my own belongings

out of inconvenience and not because

his disappointment was beaten

into my heart

and that i can trust myself without

everything falling apart

tell me

it’s all just hysterics

no rhyme or reason or blame

and that it hurt him more

than it ever hurt—

and that he left

because he loved me

tell me

tell me

tell me

thank you for reading 🥀

like a ritual in command

shredded to a shred of who i am—where i am

always    halfway     in a poem

trailing the threshold of something destruction

tumbling into the night of nothing

fear buffering in the favor-filled stillness

where a mind in survival is enough

but surviving will never be enough

where my undoing is your highest favor

but my closed mouth still keeps you fed

so you’ll eat my poems out of my palm like they’re

a cracked gourmet dish

and i keep feeding you seconds

with a growling stomach that just grows

into a monster of your approval

casting shadows of your figure

along every blank page

ROTTEN | bb poetry

thank you for reading ♥️

blouses     materializing in real time

gentle phantom lips on my cheekbones     

these reveries have become      

my warm winter home

on the floor     in front of      the fireplace

type of scene    

stripped to carnal pleasures with

grips that alter

kisses that eat     who i was   

becoming a corpse to us    

who    i     was

gliding through the gated morgue

as a starlet    haunted

from the berry tinted prints     

tattooed by lingering timeless lips

still wandering      fading flesh

Rotten | bb poetry

thank you so much for reading, as always 💋

wings forming a swarming chorus

it never takes long, just hours ago

i was      clenched in your jaw

thrashing in

unhinged stillness    as you

tell me      how rotten my softness is

how filthy i leak to your pulse

feeling my fatigue from

your smile reduced        to a midnight noose

that lures with a lull

fingers to tangled claws

in my hair      when i saw     

the skin stuck     between teeth

my hesitation—the clatter of bone

a last sight of a true form

a final thought—i think i was made to fill a void

as a hasty feed happens    on a body still warm

Rotten | bb poetry

thank you so much for reading, as always 🪰

they exist in climax

connected— i’ve tried

to alienate   the two—

even to one’s cost

losing her rhythm when her heart’s not in it    

no     little deaths    here

just one big      flatline    lying     corpse-like

with a     to-don’t   

ever    do    again  list

growing from a grave of a bed       

and in the dying minutes

i’m learning the lost intimacy

in losing self-intimacy

and finding it again       finally fucking enlightened

by the repeated epiphany:

my heart must be consumed before my—

so put your face in      my pussy   

heartbeats against your tongue      

you better be willing

to swallow      blood

Rotten | bb poetry

my painting as well ♥️

painting inspired by poem inspired by painting

thank you for reading 💋

cry in the produce

and let my harmless hard nipples be

an offensive accessory

to the man with an open carry

and as he burns his bothered stare into

a simple existence—holding a basket of fresh flowers and fruit—it walks away

relieved to be misunderstood

why are my nipples more offensive than your gun?

Rotten | bb poetry

my comfort > a “man’s” comfort

:)

found in my notes app and finished it up today

thank you for reading ♥️

drip      as the draft

from the slightly ajar window guides

the beige curtain in slow motioned waves

pushing ambient construction groans

that blend into nocturnal echoes

with frozen limbs      i inwardly pace

on a mattress like a bedridden bed bug

envious           of the cobwebs on my crystals

and the parched fly stuck in a flying position   

on a sticky rimmed glass

there’s a mundane film on

my flesh   i pick at at at

but it breeds

as it eats its way       designing

an infested frame of slick bones

slipping into mourning       

with the standing sun that hangs

like a chandelier       

overlooking     overlooking       overlooking

Rotten | bb poetry

depression is one big bed bug

thank you always for reading ♥️💋

Rotten | bb poetry

part confessional part freak

it’s not over until the freak leaves

thanks for reading 🎪

even while lying down

gravity has forgotten me    

floating in a fogged herbal cleanse

above an hourglass indent

in the corpse flower field

with steady spins under

the gold sinking clock—ruthless rays

glistening off     dizzy tears     

licked clean into

a slumbering smile      so

snug         ceaseless stillness

can look like    indifference

but time never minded     my

melancholia

Rotten | bb poetry

thank you for reading ⏳♥️

my ruby red ribbon

gathering knees and mouths that beg for my bare neck with need to know why’s behind the bind but every no builds a museum of self-consent.

they see me on a handmade throne—minding mine—and turn to disdain in an instant

with once clasped hands that now break and enter and bend. coming for my pulse in the night, oh they deserve       my darkness.

and, so, i awoke with my head on the splattered rug by my bed and a museum of mauled men tangled like ribbon.

i never knew how to just cry about it.

Rotten | bb poetry

a poem that punishes mistaking beauty for permission

~ inspired by my fav short story as a spoiled brat

“the green ribbon”

thanks for reading 🫦

blooming in my pelvis

this has somehow become the least of my worries

in these moments

the building tension spoils through in seeping puddles on his cherished property—

shame sits in a stain—and it sets in

that my womb is something to fear, that it has an inescapable will, that it bites back at inconvenience

and that i’m one with my worst enemy

nothing has hurt me quite like my own body   

and their reactions to it

finding it on the floor in its very own crime scene

fading between writhing and checking and cleaning

disposing the contaminated pieces      

and from the gods view one may assume

i’m birthing an exorcism

possessed with ocd tendencies

with gritted teeth, i give them a guttural scream

come closer

take a good look at this creation

Rotten | bb poetry

thank you so much for reading!

but the wood became warmth     trekking

through scorched trees to incinerated wishes

at the peak          me        engulfed in

the leftovers of

one small flicker

maroon soaked feet          gashed

from ashy chipped seashells

i run because i can’t go further          again

i run because i’m my savior

and you’re my killer      in the end

and i’m still too stubborn to kiss death

for man

so build your branded home

out of me

sleep heavily while i empty scream in a feral forest fever dream      swinging

from the barren branches     breaking

landing

on exposed bone      assembling

sinister crawls through the sunrise

reaching that garden wall with sunken smile lines

like the grudge but in a laughing panic

with a rope-knotted necklace

condensing to the cobwebs

crowding every corner        of your cabin        

Rotten | bb poetry

thank you always for reading me!! 🪾

photo i took years ago 🖤

Rotten | bb poetry

thank you for reading always 🖤

thank you for reading 🖤🖤🖤

is

the fresh rot dripping down your thighs

the maggot-infested wound that refuses to heal

the machete in a crowd of swinging cocks (and the middle finger to both heads after the cut)

the fallen fruit smushed into the sole of a boot

the soul of a carcass circled in a vultures’ feast

the ruins after the reactive rage

the kiss that bruises, with a finger-lipped trace

the cry for help to vacant chests

the unreliable narrator being made to narrate

the ritual in the mirror with a mascara-streaked face

but more importantly it is a naked embrace from my rotting heart, beating in your open hands.

featuring three festering chapters—

     “spoiled to the core~poems”

      “foul-mouthy confessions~ prose”

      “raw guts~ journal fragments”

(and a short story begging to be unleashed)—showing pure guts and gulps of visceral imagery,

ROTTEN is my release of a toxic dying beast and an embrace of femininity in its most grotesque form. bleeding, with no apologies.

and it will be yours 💋 NOVEMBER 14th 💋

book cover 🩸

running down porcelain flesh

he looks at me like i have two heads

then splits me in half

dollish legs dangle from the dusty shelf

centered and stunted, surrounded in dismay

lifeless eyes pierce the jaundiced room

to be a collectible is to cease in the mundane

there’s half of me out there looking to feel anything

disposed and decorated in frayed knots

and circular hues of greens and blues

years of rummaging through interconnected rooms

until hovering and talking in tongues to           an unrecognizable self

~to become a woman is to live in the grotesque

with a gutsy smile spread on your face~

intestines through bitten teeth

she’s been hanging,

legs dangling, for days

-B

creepy one today, thank you for reading 🖤

you must see the show—sliding into a front row seat

to perceive the ease of leaving me on my knees

in tatters

with blood pooled features

and a croaked throat    that splatters

guts    uncooked      on the maple wood

eyes foaming, my need to be still for your next movement—a meal in itself—

because my chest knows the way of the ritual,

but it all hurts the same

so still i brace     for the     sticky finger carve

and the gripping chant

with dripping hands

seizing a heart of bloody honey

still beating        for itself

-B

thank you for reading 🖤

I have a book coming out in November titled Rotten.

more updates coming 💋

i am always grieving

what’s to come, what’s already done

the creak on the stair that no longer groans

for me

what i could have been if he stayed

all the single beds that once held my departing frame       around the rose romanticism art—if you’ve ever had paradise

distort            to gray

before your very eyes,

then this one’s for you—

i watch the way i fly through my own story just to grip the last page

happiness feels punctured

by something foreign

because if i’ve learned anything

lately, it’s this—as good as it gets, oh it gets just as bad

and at this very moment the unimaginable is happening to someone

they want us

whimsical in mutilation

but i’m just grief in a pretty dress

and they’ve tried to teach me how to dance

carelessly             around

what i will

faithfully

dramatically

timelessly

lose

but i don’t want to

-B

i’m just grief in a pretty dress

thank you sm for reading this slightly lazy write 🖤

when darkened eyes leak fading words and

mouths cower into quiet cords

midday mourns      into

nonsense etched membrane

in the bathroom stall       of my throat

     fuck me

     like

     you hate me    it’s over  love me

     until i’m crying          in the corner your scent

dripping clichés only my eyes can enunciate

moaning in cursive twilight into

the sweet spot of your neck

-B

thank you for reading 👀

even in a mortuary

i’m asked when my womb will be

useful for the living            

                      have i now heard it all?

there’s a corner      forming

in the center of the room

only i can feel

with walls blanketed in clocks

ticking    in    synchrony

vacant hugs thump with heavy watches on my shoulder

that slyly wrap around my wrists         with a triple tap

metal limbs weighing me to the floor

into a position of submission

yes, you’ve succeeded.         i’m reminded

how my time is         ticking         but his isn’t

i look up, eyes with blasting pride

a psyche 16 asteroid heading their direction when i tell them

i don’t fear the timer—an annoyance that i’ve learned to tune out—because it

isn’t mine to fear,

all my dreams never involved being a mother—boom. oh.   appalled

searching for pearls in a mine

eyes and mouths wide—just asking for a fly

and in the metal-impregnated destruction

i gravitate towards the empty-wombed women

all our reasonings different

as we dwindle into understood silence

-B

inspired by recent events