Piña Colada.
I was in love, once, with a girl whose smile broke out like shafts of early sunlight. Man, she was everything. She was so beautiful I even stopped sleeping with my coworker and tried out monogamy.
I was waiting for her by our usual lunch place when I noticed she’d stopped smiling at me the same. Me, I knew something was up. I followed her that night, just to make sure.
My girl got in some car, with some guy.
At first, you know, I wasn’t so pleased. I’ll break her pretty face, I thought. As I walked home, I got a call from my coworker.
‘Hey baby, what you doing tonight?’ I said.
‘You?’ I heard her smile through the receiver.
I’ll break your pretty face
Porcelain dolls break
That's what she always said
With one hand wrapped around a latte
The other around his throat
She would say, artificial honey sweetening her speech
You're so pretty, so pretty
As he melted to the floor in her embrace
A pool of flawless skin riddled with bullet holes
People call her a serial lover
Tell stories about how she left hearts on the subway station everywhere she went
Always broken, always squeezed to the extent that it couldn't be called an organ anymore
Littering the ground beneath her feet
And they knew her as heartbreaker
Called her monster
Nicknamed her black widow
And wrote poor girl on her gravestone
The boys she met fell in love too fast
Just like they bled out too fast
She loved to watch the crimson pool in their chests
Before it cascaded across their muscles onto kitchen tiles
She had a type, many recall
Blonde, mostly, because in her words, "It looks better against red."
Intelligent but foolish enough to not see what was underneath
Always tall, handsome by any stretch of the word
But she always dubbed them pretty
Pretty in white shirts stained in vermillion
Pretty noses broken on bedsheets
Pretty boys, always pretty boys
Some ask if she's been to a psychologist
And the answer is always yes
She sees one every year, every six months sometimes
And she's killed every single one
Hollywood curls covering a broken girl
Sometimes, she looks in the mirror and hates what she's become
Because even though the courts told her to plea insanity, she's not
That was right before she broke their pretty faces
A Rant
Onlime anonymity was a friend at first,
A nod to my middle school androgyny,
A tool to once again hide who I am to do what I love.
The façade has often cracked open before,
Unveiling the mastermind behind my production.
Subtlely and unsubtlely, I’ve stuck out a leg
Covered with fishnet while sporting a black pump,
Though apparently some have missed the show.
So, I’ll make this crystal clear this time.
Misgender me again and I’ll break your pretty face.
Verbally.
