Hyperbole

  Hyperbole a marker of the mentally ill or so I once read Where is my light? Reptilian warmed from without Always, only once forever Alone, happy never Flushed with shamed heat pink as it rises I hide The soft bristles of my life hardened the acrylic trap So keen to add color desperate for…

My nudes

female nudity is acceptable when arranged to patriarchal standards for the male gaze. however, when embraced by the autonomous female it is brushed off as vulgarity. by Clementine Yost ©

Cliterate

sometimes all I can feel is my own clitoris even then at least I can say that I’m cliterate. by Clementine Yost ©

As the calathea

Much deeper than fat and hatred of skin It is loathing of the whole self And so in love and ink I reclaim That which should, but never truly felt as though it were Mine Always one step away just out of my grasp For what is the distance between a trot and a canter…

Starting small, with only known things

for Imogen   Before the polished sand of her mirror Freckled and pale Limbs and moles as she remembered   Temptation in dismantling her self a specimen for dissection A tally of flaws   How radical would it be to love instead? Were that even allowed Unsure, starting small with only known things Affirming feeling…

How radical would it be?

   How radical would it be If we were all free Women to walk alone Without fear of follow grabbing, whistling Why don’t you smile Honey Where breast size isn’t assumed sexual invitation Those able to reproduce graduated from chattled brood mare to human of equal worth Where the skittled pockets of black and brown…

These Sunday blues

  Earth and existence fenced by headboard and footboard Queenly yet contained she sprawls soft sheets carving grooves like sequoia lifelines A web her breast marked by sleep Printed Dampened cloth like quitting, manifest clings to her back in veiled despair A chrysalis Stuck between self care and self hate hips in horizontal sway with…

Ephemeral

Remember, intrusive thoughts, panic attacks, bouts of intense body dysmorphia, it’s all ephemeral. unwanted visitors. fleet away. the only truly perennial presence in my life is the fluffy periwinkle of my trusted friend, the echium. by Clementine Yost ©

for Sophia

Our goodbye hinged on time. You said you didn’t want to waste mine.   Wasted and confused Drunk from anger, not wine I can’t seem to fathom Why –   You were so effusive Beauty intellect mine.   You cared Or so you said – So you seemed   Why   Were you so effusive?…