This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at SCAD chapter.
By: Kelsey Sanchez
The woman is about blood
gathering in a crimson swirl in the drain of her tub
that sometimes pretends to be a womb
somewhere warm.
In twenty years, I will be safe.
Even if I’m alive in twenty years I will be safe
more than I am now.
I chew my nails in the shower
until I hit skin.
The water sprays over me
says “you’ll never be clean”
The same way women say
“boys will be boys”
and shake their heads, show their teeth.
I brew chamomile tea in a pot on the stove
where the steam walks through the room
opens my pores and makes my skin sticky.
The woman sees herself when she isn’t looking.
Reaches out to touch her own sleeve.
It is always out of reach.
There is witchcraft in us all.
I can only count on myself,
but I’m constantly disappearing.