The point of your elbow
digs a hole between my shoulder blades
as I lie next to you.
brutal,
blunt.
A bruise blooms as you grind
away at my spine in your sleep
But I don’t scoot away.
I take it,
I suffer it.
The twin bed is too small for two
It creaks when you come
onto me in the night.
groaning,
screeching.
and all I think about is how thin
my wrists have gotten, how thin
the walls are
I worry about waking someone,
I worry about the aches and bleeds you’re causing.
I worry that the next night, you’ll come onto me again,
And if I tell you about my aches and bleeds,
You’ll roll your eyes and “joke” that I must hate you
And in that moment, I think
that I do.
But I’ll let you dig at me anyway.
"This piece is inspired by issues that plague young women as they navigate their lives, from performative sex to having the rights to their bodies taken away to (obviously) daddy issues. I am excited to write about the visceral aspects of being a young woman and the violence we feel and face as we push forward." -- notes from the artist
JORDAN MILLER is a queer, female, gen-z writer from Frisco, Texas. She has previously published work in the North Texas Daily and in Creation Magazine. Her work is focused on feminine rage and empowerment, death as a vehicle for catharsis, among other musings.