At the edge of a carefully tended world, a woman watches beauty, breeding, and silence work together to conceal what should have been named. The poem uses Wonderland’s garden to examine class adjacency, Catholic shame, and the cost of growing up as the wrong kind of flower in a family that prized appearances above tenderness.

In the delirium of pain, a speaker discovers that there is something almost luxurious about suffering that does not lie. Bitter, surreal, and acid-tongued, the poem drifts through fever, betrayal, and the humiliating relief of a wound with no hidden agenda.

When the body becomes easier to understand than the heart, even infection can start to feel merciful. This poem uses Lyme disease as a darkly comic point of contrast, exposing the absurdity of preferring physical illness to the chaos of intimate harm.

At the edge of a crowded tea table, a woman searches for the hidden rules that never seem to apply kindly to her. The poem uses Wonderland to render the ache of masking, overstimulation, and being made to feel out of place in rooms that insist there is no room at all.

A woman stops asking for her betrayer’s downfall and starts asking for her own beautiful return. It moves from razor wire to silk, from confinement to release, from survival to the possibility of being loved in the correct language.

A well-read woman is a dangerous thing to want. This poem is for the ones with recall, restraint, and the good sense not to spoil the ending.

Not fate. Not flowers. Just one clean motion and a whole nervous system folding in the passenger seat. A poem about how quickly competence can turn into lust.

Little green army men around the bed: a perimeter, a punchline, a prayer. A poem about trying to protect yourself from the person you invited in anyway.

A birthday poem that reads like a confession, a reckoning, and a dare to keep going. It gathers the quiet devastations of one life and turns them into something precise, unsentimental, and painfully alive.

A literary mouth-off dressed in Oz imagery: this poem moves through yellow roads, false kingdoms, and poppy fields to ask what courage means when silence has already chosen its side.

A nurse who has spent years holding the line for everyone else is forced to confront the limits of devotion. A sharp poem about helplessness, procedure, and the awful fluency of continuing after your life has split open.

A deep-sea bloom is torn open by the first thing powerful enough to reach its depth. What remains is a poem of bloodied water, black coral, and the brutal afterlife of misrecognition.

She disappears into dark water, and desire follows close behind. Set in moonlight and undertow, this poem drifts into the charged space where surrender starts to feel like instinct.

A lush, erotic meditation on contact and transformation, where kelp and silk entwine into a darker, more intimate form of beauty. What emerges is not innocence but aftermath.

A recursive poem of longing and self-interrogation, where memory and emotional exhaustion collapse into the ache of missing someone who once felt safe.

A lush, unsettling meditation on desire and transformation, where beauty is altered by contact and rendered into something stranger, more physical, and impossible to name.

A raw narrative about the aftermath of emotional damage, where body shame, silence, and mental distress become the record of what a relationship took.

A controlled, emotionally incisive narrative about being misremembered, exploring the quiet violence of having shared history rewritten into something unrecognizable.

A reflective and emotionally grounded narrative that explores queer family building through reciprocal IVF, centering choice, partnership, and the meaning of being wanted.

A comedic, observational essay about heterosexual courtship rituals, lesbian visibility, and the surreal experience of being flirted with by men you fundamentally do not register.