Chicken Wings

Girls lying down Girls getting caught up by a darkness that looks good on them Girls closing their eyes, resting their lashes, collapsing under the weight of their legacy Girls momentarily liberating themselves from the sight of their own faces Girls replacing their random pajamas with pieces of silk that they can weave into their trivially premature memoirs or make their lovers worship like an unaffordable car Girls letting go of their minds as their subconscious kicks in and makes them cleverer Girls losing their minds and finding them again, always Girls bleeding and bleeding and bleeding and bleeding Girls dreaming of odd dinner parties where they’re not really welcome even though their conditions are acceptable and they have degrees and timely anecdotes to tell and blossoming pregnancies to flash Girls carrying the not too heavy but very inevitable weight of coming girls and girls passed and the always growing thighs that make them adorable or suicidal Girls blinded by girlhood Girls meaning well Girls hating with the force of an merciless army Girls discovering that they are the least expected and the deepest red Girls being born with angel eyes meant for anything Girls getting sucked at and devoured like snacks in buckets Girls preparing themselves for the next season of monotonous wardrobe choices Girls fucking and hatching Girls upholstering their hearts because what else can they do in a reality of institutionalized heartbreak Girls alone in their beds after hours and hours and hours of figuring out whether or not it’s in their nature to care committedly for others or even just care about their own blacked out bodies or if they ever want to cook dinner for someone Girls accompanied in their beds by whatever or whoever they have produced Girls getting their well-deserved pause from listening Girls resisting the urge to crush by straightening themselves Girls in girls in love Girls getting things done in their sleep without heads and without wings and without voices Girls finally acknowledging their compulsive ability to rescue and don’t exactly know what to do with that insight Girls wanting it to end in spectacular ways since they’re already well aware that it will end, and since they have already spent a considerable amount of their nights grieving Girls fantasizing a little bit about their own funerals Girls rising alongside a suit-colored dawn Girls counting their eggs and eating them for breakfast Girls after eggs Just eggs by Nanna Friis