cassandra poems
Isabelle Joy Stephen
Scene.
Crazy Ho.
HISS!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Did I scare you? Hiss! Hiss! Hiss! Well shit didn’t I tell you
to keep your hands where I can see them —
see them with all my eyes not just my all-seeing
one? told you this would be a different
kinda day for me. No “vision.” No SHIT. My vision.
My shit. My turn to see what I want to see and what I want
to see is blessings on loop, blessings on endless
scroll like Instagram ads for at-home anti-d’s, (depressants), anti-
psychotics — anti-psychics — lip fillers and DIY laser
hair removal, pimple patches, shapewear, Kim K. in a coupe
glass, Emrata on a boat
what’s she selling — was I on a boat
once — nah, I forget, I keep scrolling, I keep seeing
blessings, aka things, things that could make me happy — ads for corsets
& Diet Coke, ads for the children in Gaza, to sponsor a child in Gaza,
or sponsor a genocide or stack your bread if women had any sense
I guess we’d keep our bread in a loooong box and our hands to ourselves
then maybe we’d get to keep our heads on our bodies, our babies unrubbled
just kidding haha
I warned them I warned them I said hiss hiss blood!
they said buy these huge velvet pillows shaped like flowers hand sewn
by a white lady in East LA, and bathmats shaped like tigers
made in Taiwan, orchids dipped into resin made into earrings,
$30 off a new vibrator with the code FREEPALESTINE.
With the code NOVISIONS. I’m talking manifestation
and shit. I’m talking stacking bread. I’m talking money
where my mouth is
my mouth is my money I know your secrets before you say them out loud.
That’s why they wanna kill me.
target me with an ad for a little pink gun.
Scene.
Crazy Ho.
I need a gun I need a gun I need a gun I need a gun I need a NOOOO!!!!!!!
…
Crazy Ho.
Shiiiiit. I always end up here. Not Mycenae. Not Elysium. Not Hades
but Troy —
the hard heart of it — no warmth
like at least in the belly of the beast a ho can feel her feet,
but no —
I gotta live right here, the worst part, begging a god to be a girl’s girl,
begging girl-god to save me.
No, God’s no woman. but they are a $@&%!
Lol. No really. God is for the guys.
& Heaven’s stocked with hot wings
& Angels by Victoria’s Secret.
Those angels know how to stack? Those angels know to climb
out?
HEY, ANGELS! STACK AND CLIMB OUT!
They don’t hear me. Fine. I wonder where those angels climb out to…?
Scene.
Crazy Ho.
I dreamed I was the rubble buried beneath the rubble.
I dreamed I was the bomb that birthed the rubble.
I dreamed I was buried with Mother in her grave marked BITCH.
I dreamed I was on a boat bound for another mother’s threshold.
And in that dream I dreamed a dream: this mother will kill me.
I dreamed of Delphi. I dreamed of Florida. I dreamed of snakes
in the swamp, I felt fear, they felt kinship, they licked hot
on my ears while I slept and made me dream their dreams
of original sin. Sin so original multiple gods had to kill them
for thinking of it first. Slay…I dreamed of walking the red carpet
carrying my own talking head like a purse. It’s Gucci. I dreamed
the world dead by my friend Kendall Jenner’s 818 tequila,
dreamed the world dead by the death of God, the world dead
from over/indulgence like fat Elvis on the toilet, Priscilla 15 forever —
I dreamed the world could be saved with a Pepsi commercial.
I dreamed my dreams were dreams, not visions. I dreamed
#novisions. I dreamed I was flying-stack-of-money emoji.
I dreamed you were typing me out 100 times for good luck
&manifestation.
Scene.
Crazy Ho.
Has anyone deaded themselves jumping off Olympus yet.
I wanna know.
Has anyone tasted ambrosia and thought, This shit
gone off. In Beverly Hills where there exists
the highest concentration of Birkin bags
on Earth
do the Housewives brush each other’s shiny hair.
Do the Housewives say I love you to their besties
before bed.
No one nowadays needs an oracle to tell us
ALL THE HOUSEWIVES WILL SOMEDAY BURN.
Nowadays no oracle needs to tell us:
It’s all winding down.
Just like nowadays we don’t need curses to look the truth
in the face and call her crazy.
Call her alternative; delusional; toxic; whore.
Your new oracle is a DJ. Your new oracle is a girl’s girl on TikTok with a synth
pop ass she shakes on OnlyFans for a sliding scale
Delphi, that magic chasm,
is like the pussy of the Earth.
Too much of a good thing will spoil anyone.
The truth is worth nothing since money’s all there is.
Isabelle Joy Stephen is a writer, artist, and a girl's girl. She writes across genres & has won some awards. She now lives in the South.