after Chelsey Minnis
man-thing, if you wanna be my lover, you gotta get my consent to bleed from yr dick
when you read my poetry.
man-thing, Selena Gomez’s eyeliner is poetry & so is yr metaphorical gin & juice,
the way it dripslides down my thighs.
man-thing applies my satin bordeaux lipstick in smudges & i write a poem
man-thing, speak to me in iambic pentameter bc i’m a poet & poets like a steady
rhythm, uh huh uh huhhh….
man-thing, poetry is in the seams of my floral-covered nightgown & the way you
seesaw up & down.
man-thing, my poems don’t suck any dicks, but should they, to get published?
man-thing reads my poem in lacey pink lingerie while eating mini gumdrops
& they have never sounded so sweet.
man-thing, you’re itchy like black crushed velvet. i wanna peel you off real real slow
& put the pretty pieces of you in my poems.
man-thing, my poems just wanna be featured in Vogue next to an advertisement for
Sally Hansen stick-on nail art. my poems don’t give a shit about being avant garde.
man-thing, i wrote this poem to you in my fleece pajamas. this poem is a symptom of
Self Portrait, During and After O Face
As we fuck, I sweat diamonds, profusely.
The room begins to smell like a high
-end brothel, my Chloe perfume emulsifying with my diamond
sweat, and I stare into the fluorescent light
fixture searching for answers about God’s preferred
brand of eyeliner.
I lie in my invisible kingdom of glittery
bodily fluids and think about God.
Does God shop at Sephora or at the Mac?
Does God use an eyebrow pencil?
Does God think lip liner is cheating?
God is singing in my head again
in the howling voice of a she-wolf
that’s just eaten her young.
I want to tell Marc Jacobs that God is a woman who wears pink platforms.
I want to tell Marc Jacobs that he caused my anorexia.
I want to tell Marc Jacobs to go fuck himself with a small sequined dildo.
I want to put rattlesnakes in Marc Jacobs eyes and watch them slither inside him.
I smoke a cigarette on my porch
and burn a hole in my AA chip.
This is a symptom of trauma.
KELSEY CASTANEDA is a poet and cat mom to Willow and Cordelia. She is a MFA candidate and teacher of creative writing at the University of Notre Dame. Her current poetry project is a feminist yawp that experiments with erasure and translation of Vergil’s Aeneid.