①④ &⃝ ①ⓢⓣ
Luce Childs
oh, and such
we sit and we blame God
and if God is not in your vernacular
it is our mothers at fault
and if it is truly not her fault,
such again we blame our fathers
or the creators before them
that bestowed their pain from summer loves
from devastation of a motor accident in the country
where you smoke cigarettes while your first sweetheart died
so in the room of plenty of victims
now suddenly you are the greatest one
when your biggest opponent is only the mirror
at last is it the blame of god,
or of your mother,
or your father
or any personhood of defeat-
as much as it is the enemy
resting upon your feet?
i baptized you in the bar sink
i sunk teeth into your shoulders
the valueless distribution of retention
my face is full of water
my palms are ferociously dry
i section them upon velvety curtains
scratching against the roughness of flesh
and they all want to be someone else
copious bodies but not enough souls
another empty building
with the physical entwined
Luce Childs is a New York City based writer more frequently known under the pseudonym Pylvia Slath. Having no formal training in writing, Luce explored poetry as a form of therapeutic expression- using her work and platform to reinvent the gaze of social media as (im)perfection. While finding a fixation in the macabre, she finds that beauty exists in every heartache rather than through rose colored glasses.
This is her first published work.