porcelain rules

there‘s a hum in the wires

beneath my ribs:

a static ache for something

less still.

i was raised in rooms with silk-tied tongues,

where good girls sat with their knees tight,

where mirrors were altars

and silence meant proper.

where wildness was scolded

until it shrank

into a flavorless thing.

but lately,

there’s a scream in my knuckles.

a need to tear lace into ribbons,

to kiss someone i shouldn’t

and leave mid-sentence.

to grow teeth

where i was taught to smile.

i want to bruise the air

with my name.

to run red lights

just to see if i bleed.

to unlearn grace.

to spit the lessons

back into the throat

they came from.

some days,

i dream of smashing glass

not only to destroy

but to hear something

break

louder than i ever could.

and maybe then,

the noise would be mine.

— Lux