• I weave friendship bracelets

    of tangled envy, self-esteem, and doubt.
    The voice will whisper,
    "Give it to Ana("
    --oeroxa) b***h that she is.

    Instead,

    I am bent over my personal altar.
    I am not buli--
    but Mia is my best friend
    as I paint her name
    with stomach acid
    around the porcelain-God's mouth.

    I wonder if Leonardo will sculpt me
    as a new superficial Madonna,
    I won't have a halo nor a babe at my breast
    but instead I'm a surreal birthing of Venus,
    bringing up my last supper
    and hoping the caked on cleaning foam
    will set me ashore a thousand miles away.