A Poem That Isn't a Poem but Rather an Essay About Women Who Love Patrick Bateman
Sofija Popovska
in the mirror the face you see yourself | I’m so fucking good at this | the eye is an aleph and every place is you
in the mirror the face you see yourself | I’m so fucking good at this | the eye is an aleph and every place is you
what to do with this boyfriend sized chasm?
Sun on the creases of someone I love, shadows cut / our funny surface.
you can build the fist into a exclamation point
You’re so beautiful I see that everything is beautiful. A mudslide. A wound. A dead raccoon.
Best time to buy a bra / is right before the moon finishes / milking itself
Run to him,
it urged. Drop to your knees
I am at such peace but I take a beat
to pause, that’s all, to feel so full, hearted, set.
I intimidate men
With my intensity
Please don’t be scared of me
i turned out alright
Love. That’s all I want. That’s all we want. These people. These dogs.
Love is like a museum. You have to look around, experience things, and then leave.
"[Her Lesser Work] is a collection of mordant and formally inventive stories circling themes of, let’s say, desire and escape within repressive structures."
-Walker Caplan, Literary Hub