Allyson Salazar is a writer and teacher from Connecticut. As a child, Tuesdays were designated "swear day" by her mother. These days she lets 'em fly whenever she fucking feels like it.
arranged to belittle his children. We disappointed him,
enraged him. Fuck his games. I will just keep on leaving.
My mother was null, the observer. Please be
quiet. I remember a shrew who treated us like vaginas who yelled, like zeros.
Nipples raised like the tied knots on my parent's bedspread,
sometimes so hard they hurt.
In his mouth the sour mix of coffee and milk I smelled each Sunday
before I even awoke. Why didn't I wear underwear to bed?
JCrew Screw You
Classic fit boycut jeans wool toggle coat
beaded braided macramé belt
she thinks fuck you
stylist cunt's stale breath
masking tape itching my nipples.
Balled fists stuffed into
ladder stitch cardigan
patch pockets over city tee in willow
she seems all fuck off
so what side buckle suede riding boots.
Page three and four's fall spread
couples on bumpers in natural light
stiff jeans and cocked hips
slashed front cotton sweater
and her unsmiling puss means fuck me.