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size 8 on my ring finger
I am a good dog.
when I bite you
my silver teeth and tongue closing around rough flesh
you know I never really meant it.
I am a good dog.
when you scold me, I bow my head
and take the brunt of it on my shoulders
and you never even hear me whimper.
I am a good dog.
you’ve collared me and now
I spend so much time scratching at this chain
not out of discomfort, but confusion.
I don’t know when I became such a good dog.
I happily offer up my belly
when your hands get close to me
and it never feels like a command.
I guess I must be a good dog.
- l.g. 3/8/24
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June
June has always been so kind to me.
her blonde hair tickles the bottoms of my feet
while the last of her light dies in my eyes.
she cheers on my cigarette stained fingers
with a symphony and light show
that I still see behind my eyelids
when the day fades from blue, to pink, to purple.
her warmth radiates in my skin
and I feel her for hours
with a blush all over my body.
she prefers me with less clothes
and rewards me with new aspirations
that make me weep when she leaves.
she steals my youth
but I don’t mind.
June has always been so kind to me.
- l.g. 1/10/23
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alcohol in my blood, alcoholism from my blood
White knuckles on a porcelain sink,
Staring back into the same hazy blue eyes
that I used to spit insults at.
Forcing myself to keep them open all the way,
The way she did once upon a time.
The same blonde hair,
The same eye bags,
The same cracking lips.
Even our foreheads wrinkled the same,
The crease beginning between my eyebrows
where hers was pronounced.
The freckles dusting my nose
matching the browning photos of her tucked away.
Get a grip.
Get a grip.
You are not her.
You are not her.
A simple mantra, repeated for someone’s comfort.
Who’s comfort?
It wasn’t mine.
I was never really ashamed of her.
My best friend is crying in my bedroom
Because she’s turning into her mother
And she knows it, and she can’t fight it, and she hates it.
While I’m staring into the ghost of my own.
When, exactly, do young girls turn into their mothers?
When, exactly do young girls learn to despise their mothers?
I can’t remember a time when we weren’t butting heads.
My creator, the only goddess I know for certain,
Yet I cower when I see her smile
On my sister’s face.
Did I hate her?
Or did I hate the idea of her being so similar to me?
There is a point in a young woman’s life
When she realizes that her mother,
This powerful woman, this unconditional love,
Was just doing the best with the cards dealt.
It is incredibly humbling.
It is incredibly horrifying.
The pushback is painful for both sides.
A teenage brain who can’t make sense
That her biggest idol is not superhuman,
Can not make all the right decisions all the time.
An adult who lived the same,
Who cannot offer anything other than rocksteady arms
for her younger self to crash into,
An unwavering shoulder, 
a soft cup in the crook of her neck to catch her tears.
- l.g. 11/6/22
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work
I was raised in a household
that very much preached
pulling yourself up by your bootstraps.
“you’re a smart girl,
you’ll find some way to put it to good use.
and if that doesn’t work,
well, hey,
your art isn’t half bad.
you’re crafty.
you’ll think of something.
and even if it all goes to shit,
thank god
you were blessed with a
strong body
healthy appetite
and all 10 fingers.”
my family is full of self-proclaimed workaholics.
major surgeries
deaths in the family
failing marriages
failing bodies
cannot stop these machines.
because what good are tears?
the salt running down your face
will not feed your children.
I’ve never been able to sit idly
for more than a few months
at most
because that is time spent
time wasted
that could have been put towards a paycheck
or building something new
fostering new connections
creating my future.
it was bred into me.
generations of capitalism
resulting in one hard-working daughter.
I hear it all the time from older folks.
“nobody wants to work anymore!
but you, you’re different!
you’re such a hard worker!
you see things that need to be done
and you just do them!
we love you here!
you’re the best person we’ve ever hired!”
why do I do it?
who’s approval am I really chasing?
am I achieving it with minimum wage?
I am beyond terrified
that
I will spend all this time
working
putting in the hours
exhausting myself
just to crash out
at the end of my life
and, while preparing to rest,
to ride the last waves of peace
and joy and love
before I’m put in the earth,
I will realize
that I am bored.
without the constant demand
on my body and mind,
I will be bored.
- l.g. 11/3/22
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snickers
I wanted you
like a kid wants candy
while their parents are grocery shopping.
such a pretty wrapper,
and you fit perfectly in my hand!
perfectly designed to make me beg for you,
even if you’re terrible for me.
can I really reduce it to that?
that you were nothing more
than something that caught my eye
while I was passing through?
that I threw a small tantrum for you
just to forget about you?
often times I surprise myself
with the mental reserve I DO have,
the moments where I’m able to have the maturity
to tell myself no.
no, I can’t have you.
no, I don’t want you.
no, I’m putting you back.
because,
let’s be honest here,
darling,
you were just a craving.
my sweet tooth getting me into trouble.
- l.g. 9/22/22
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baby steps
do you remember
learning to put on mascara?
casually reaching for the tube one morning
like you’d been doing it all your life?
do you remember
who taught you
to go into your mother’s things
and put on her lipstick?
where did you learn how to put on powder?
or hold a brush?
when did you learn the order
in which your makeup should be applied?
why did you start plucking your eyebrows
and shaving your mustache?
it all came almost naturally, didn’t it?
a few hiccups here and there, sure
but one day you looked in the mirror
and you were different
weren’t you?
the creams and the glitter and the messy black?
you felt good,
didn’t you?
sometimes I feel like a child of capitalism.
who taught me?
- l.g. 6/20/22
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a voicemail i’ll never record
hey man.
I know it’s kinda early and -
well, I don’t really know what you get up to these days.
maybe you’re up.
maybe you don’t want to talk,
I get it.
it has been awhile.
but hey, listen,
things have been getting kinda rough for me and
I just wanted to call and see if maybe you were free to
go sit somewhere, spark a bowl and talk.
like we used to.
you know,
before the partners -
both in life and in crime, ha -
and the legal shit,
and just general growth that teens do.
I don’t smoke much anymore and
I’ve heard you’ve moved on to some harder shit but
I don’t know man.
my soul hasn’t felt as pure as it did back then.
maybe you feel the same.
so I just wanted to see if you wanted to get together
and maybe offload some of life’s burdens.
I can’t guarantee it’ll be any good but,
y’know, at least we’ll both be there.
alright, love you, call me back, bye.
click.
- l.g. 1/18/22
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a pink baby blanket
I yearn for it
like a child yearns for adulthood.
a great unknown just barely visible,
wholly misunderstood but wanted just the same.
leaning into it
sends sparks
but I can’t stay too long
because it is it not mine to seek.
it has never been.
it feels like glimpsing sunlight
through the shutters
of a rotting house.
what is this?
what does it mean?
is it dysphoria?
is it lust?
I envy your hard lines.
I envy your brain chemistry.
I envy your birthright,
to live a life of ease and pleasure,
whereas I inherited pain and the burden of the world.
I envy your essence.
I am wholly lost.
- l.g. 1/12/22
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homecoming
reaching out
to feel what was once lush grass
and my fingers landing in dirt
feels awful strange.
I try to get my bearings
and I fall flat
inhaling the dust.
it burns my eyes,
but it burns my heart more.
I’m choking.
when did this drought start?
why didn’t I notice the change?
the sand is swallowing me whole
but still
my hands search for the grass.
- l.g. 12/21/21
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IUD
I’m often asked
why I sing the praises
of the little plastic T
in my uterus
if it has made my “womanly time”
that much worse.
it’s because I am not promised a barren womb.
in the country where
woman are persecuted for
miscarriages
and
accidents are not allowed to happen
and
birth control is murder
I have never been guaranteed infertility.
we are taught
to keep our men happy
with our bodies
and punished
for the natural outcome
of such indiscretions.
I hold my IUD
in high regard
because it’s an investment
in my protection.
- l.g. 11/20/21
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rebirth
to be reborn
is a painful process.
for some
rebirth is found in
the eyes of the lord
as we wash ourselves
of our material sins.
it is an escape for some,
the ability to create a new life
when the old one gets too cluttered
and we have been bogged down
for too long.
I would equate mine
to that of a Phoenix.
I had to burn
to heal.
I had to kill myself
to try again.
I had to die
to be reborn.
I still look the same
but I’ve climbed from the ashes
of the version of myself
that let so many hurt me
and while it hurt,
believe me,
it felt like every fiber of my being
was ripped apart
until I couldn’t see a reason to try again,
until I was wholly swallowed by the pain of it all,
it also feels amazing.
- l.g. didn’t date this one
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windows of the new age
I see the green bubble
next to your name
telling everyone you’re online
and I feel
a bit like a stalker.
as if I were a suitor,
watching you through a window.
- l.g. unfinished & undated, sometime in either late 2019 or early 2020
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gray skies
it always seems to rain
in the days
after we lose someone
and it feels
as if we have shed enough tears
to soak the earth.
- l.g. 10/5/21
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shadows of you
I see
bits and pieces of you
in everything that I do,
everywhere that I go.
it’s you
that I lock eyes with
in a shitty venue
in Missouri
and before I can blink,
you’re gone again.
it’s you
beside me in traffic
before the red light changes
and it’s just another stranger.
it’s you
behind me at the pharmacy
and the idea frightens me so much
I don’t even turn to make sure.
I just wish
it could be you
and one day,
we would lock eyes
from across the crowd
and reunite.
you’d envelop me into your arms
and I’d never let you go again.
but it won’t ever be you
so I blink hard,
and keep my face turned away
from the hope
that it is.
- l.g. 9/5/21
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travelling nurse
is it okay
if I pretend
you just never came back from Seattle?
that you’re just living your life up there?
that you’re enjoying the nightlife
and making new friends
and you got the fresh start you wanted?
and that one day
a long, long time from now,
I’ll get a phone call saying you died
the way you were supposed to?
maybe it was old age,
maybe it was cancer,
maybe your heart just gave up?
and I can mourn you then
and it’ll be proper
and I won’t have to avoid talking about you
to people who weren’t there.
because I can’t tell people
that you’re gone
without the questions
and it’s
shameful?
almost?
to say that,
« oh, my mothers actually gone.
oh, yeah, um, she actually took her own life.
no, yeah, I’m okay. it was a while ago, so »
so in my mind,
you’re living large
in Seattle
and when I see photos and paintings,
I’ll look for you in the glimmering lights.
you’re still alive there.
- l.g. 9/1/21
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gaia
I’m trying to do my part
to save the Earth
when I can.
I try to minimize my plastic use.
I make the eco-friendly switches.
I’m trying as hard as I can afford.
but it so damn frustrating
to know
that everything I do
to try to help
is immediately offset by
the massive fucking corporations
that own
the entire fucking market.
it frustrates me to no end.
what more can we do
when our planet burns up
and there is nothing left to eat
or drink
or breathe?
my plastic free
natural
biodegradable
$13 tube of deodorant
is owned by proctor and gamble.
- l.g. 7/22/21
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elementary
take me back
to the time
of gray carpets
and vcr tapes
and overalls with the ankles cuffed.
let my white blonde hair bleach in the sun.
let my face develop freckles
like the photos lost on our digital camera.
take me back to the time of stuffed animals
and playing in the yard
until the lightning bugs told us to go home.
please.
take me back to a time when I was still innocent.
take me back and leave me there.
- l.g., undated, possibly sometime last year
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