When did he stop roaring? And why. 

The way he opens up claws stream from his tongue and lift me onto a higher cloud. A fortress in the tone of
anthems and access. 

Give him back the way he holds up the universe with a rumble, throat tumble, vocal mumble, where did mine go?

If it gets too loud in this cafeteria we’ll hold up a sign and shackle closed your chords, and if you even let out a hiss of a whis

per, we’ll drag you outside the crowd to your own separate table. We’ll take your voice and your name and your squad and you’ll punch your own head repeatedly because we said “shame” and you didn’t 

know any better.


You are not the Empress,



you destroyed their lives at conception.

You were built for escaping

and maddening journal entries.

There are choices

and there are no choices,

like jumping hurriedly from

the sixteenth floor.

Their masks, small, enchanting,

will haunt your dreams


and you don’t have a choice

in that,

even if you cling to them.