by Lillian Fuglei

I’ve spent the last week
trying to find the poetry in this,
some juxtaposition, the way
my body’s legality has changed
over the last two years
(two semesters for him—
if he felt like following his
code of conduct).

It isn’t there though.

The terror is the same, my skin
reeks of girlhood, translated challenge
by him. Glittering smiles and hands
over mine, teaching me where to place
semicolon; where to opt for em dash.

(These lessons did not stick)

Some jolt of me wants to scream Child,
though this is no longer a me
I can hide behind. Woman now,
though only just. There is no law,
no keep out sign, nailed to
my thighs, to divert his eyes
and attempts.

Lillian Fuglei (they/she) is a lesbian poetess based in Denver, Colorado. She began writing poetry in high school, after a lifetime of attending open mics, thanks to their mother. They bounce between poetry, journalism, and academia, hoping to find a home for her writing somewhere in between the three. You can find them on Instagram @literary.lillian or X @LFuglei. Their debut chapbook, Girlhood Scrapbook, is available now with Stain’d Arts.