conversation with the girl in a red room never begins with a hello

here, every girl has a story. each one with plots thicker than blood.
like clots trickling down thighs at penetration; some forced, some welcomed.
like when the sun kisses your window and you reply
by pulling the blinds down. you want in.

here, every girl has a scar. one carries a knife. she says it reminds her
body to react. in her sleep she sings war songs. this weapon is a brush
and her blood is the paint. she makes notes on her skin. loud songs.
these songs keep me going, she says. when you see it, they resemble tallies.
like she’s keeping count. you ask her if she’ll ever go home.
she says home grows on you.

here, every girl has a dream and they never take it off.

Header photograph © C.S. Young Jr.