Poetry: Ghost by Niki Perez

It feels like menopause
when a face burns red
two weeks straight. You bleed
into armpits rejecting
Secret and Old Spice.
After all, divorces suck.
Those masks are potent,
like that sweet smell you sniff
when stressed the fuck out.
And we fuck out. Truth is,
honest is a breed
rare as those swiftly adulting.
Their words of advice
end with cuss hard,
because a timid voice
sounds stronger when
bullshit exits early.
So let’s make it transferable:
remember that time
she sobbed on the floor;
you stepped over her
like you’d avoid a puddle.
And just like that, a female dog,
gracefully bit off—
your whole existence.

Niki Perez is a mom, a commercial real estate guru, and a word slayer. She makes no apologies for being an alpha female, though her sword fighting skills need practice. Once, Niki was an owl of literature and creating writing at FAU. You might find her pen in Lavender Bones, From One Line vol. 2, and Bullshit Lit Mag, among others.


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