instagram @flomeije

I want to be in love with a man so badly.

I want to hold his jaw and touch his forearms when he is angry to calm him down.  I want to want him to pin my wrists and eat his heart out.  Touch my chest.  Breathe, pant, roll over, sweat, repeat.  I want dirty shoelaces, I want a bare chest on the basketball court, gleaming, mouth turned in my direction, teeth blinding, me watching, laughing into my friend’s shoulder when she tells me “Yours is the Hottest”.  I want to eat licorice out of his mouth.  I want to ride bareback and throw the condom into the trash and worry about my roommates finding it. I see men on the street and their lips are butterscotch candies and mine are knives.

I screamed my way from the womb with a back carved out of stone.  The first person who touched it was made out of honeycomb and doughnut glaze;  no man compares to that.


Centuries pass;  I am nothing.  There is still blood on my teeth, bones on my tongue.  I don’t know how they got there.  I think she shoved them in when she was taking her hand out of my throat, my pulsing heart dripping and oozing through her fingers.

“I love to hurt you”, she said, eyes on my mouth.  I thought, “Okay, so that’s what this is about”.  I took her hand and pushed her thumb against my clavicle.  She smiled and leaned into my face.  “You feel so good!” she shouted, right over the railing of the Sunday bridge.  I thought, “Okay, so she’s looking into the water and her eyes are thirsty”.  I moved to jump the rail but her hand punctured through my chest and she threw my heart into the river.  It sank.  I looked at her face and into her eyes and she leaned closer, impossibly, our noses brushing.

If my heart still lived in my body it would have been echoing against my neck and she knew this.  I breathed against her mouth and moved to lick her teeth—her strong bones.  She let me and she tasted like salt.  She giggled and kissed me right on the mouth.  I could see my heart floating down under the bridge. You fucking idiot, it spat at me.  I looked away, at the space past her ear, she pulled back—thumb against my clavicle for the second time.  She dug her nail into it and I felt the pulse.
“I hated to see your heart break”, she said, “so I took it out”.  My head dropped onto her shoulder and I nodded.  I kissed her neck.

“I know, I know, I know”.

Zofia Provizer


I love the moon a LOT, I've had the same favorite song for 4 years (Everything Is Embarrassing), and I am pop culture trash magic!

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