Author: Alexandra Gremillion

Alexandra Gremillion lives in New York and can be found on Tumblr and Twitter.

“i know exactly what i want so don’t tell me i lack direction”

i want to be a Teen Heartthrob™
i want to be a queen
i want smooth hands and shiny teeth
i want to be a little boy again
i want to be accepted by every single alien
i want to have sad sex with the sun
i want lots of drugs and candy
i want my blood to taste like soda
i want to kill my heroes and conquer the moon
i want a really cool spoon and infinite cereal
i want to be in love forever
i want to never ever be in love
i want 37 tattoos and 0 kids and maybe a dog with a cool name like Toast
i want to die on a boat
i want to give birth
but only if it’s to a black hole

burnscars

there are
12 raindrops on my skin
in 2 perfect rows

i quit smoking 20 minutes ago
but i’ll quit again in an hour

and my skin has stitched itself together
and i really couldn’t kill flowers
for anyone
right now

my hands keep getting better,
but my handwriting is getting worse

and i am imagining writing letter
after letter
to someone i love

(i am imagining writing
letter
after letter
to someone
whose burnscars i love)

the sky is grey
my eyes are grey
the sky is grey
my sweaters grey

and i am imagining perfectly stitched together hands
i am imagining the most beautiful raindrops
on everybodys skin

the smoke is grey
and there are flowers living for everyone
and there are flowers living for everyone
and there are flowers living
and there are flowers

[daily affirmations]

the therapist looks forward to seeing you

turn your head, smile
turn your head, purse your lips
turn your head, swallow the moon

you are guiding baby sea turtles from shore –
you are birds of prey trying to eat baby sea turtles.

there are stars but it’s still real dark.
you know your body well.
you answer messages deliberately,
you know what will be the new black.

sunrises without orange are like home.
you know you aren’t your mother,
you have weaponized communication,
you are only hard inside sometimes.

there is a certain sort of fluidity that comforts you,
you wrap yourself in it for days
weeks
months
it’s been years now, dear.

there’s a certain sort of comfort
in knowing you’re always touching the sky.

you know your body well.
you eat tomato by the slice,
even when it’s green.

you are brave.
you are a victim,
you are not a wound.

the dogs are barking with you,
not at you.

you know your body well,
turn your head, “fuck”,

you are not a wound.