Michaela's Musings

Note: This poem was part of an assignment for my poetry class. It's inspired by and responds to a fellow classmate's poem. A Meditation on Love Tell me about the widow  Dressed in black lace, Fangs dripping with bloody rouge. A heartless predator Claiming another victim. But she loved him. Adoring his tiny, tan frame And the smattering of freckles decorating his back. A deficit Mars to her lethal Venus. She loved him, So fiercely she Dices him into tiny cubes, Spooning him into her mouth. So that when their children are born, He is the first thing they know. And she, a hopeless romantic, Returns to her web. Waiting for another to love. XOXO, Michaela

  All Apples Rot Here is the house, Four hundred years in the making. Built with bleached bones and Black blood. Slicked with centuries of sweat. Burn marks etched into the hardwood floor. Nothing more American than apple pie. Gooey brown sugar and rancid flesh Served up to the highest bidder. Rot wriggles from beneath, As maggots eat away at the crust. We’re sent to eat in the kitchen When company comes. Dirty dishes pile high, Rank resentment wafts through the air. But we laugh. Nothing lasts forever. A teeny dent, A tiny crack in this mythical melting pot. XOXO, Michaela

                                                                                                         Lapse I can’t remember her laugh.  Maybe it was deep and warm,  Laced with Old Texan charm.  But then again, there’s a lot I don’t remember. Moths feast on the last photos my mind saved, Taunting me with glimpses Of honey blonde curls and bronzed skin. What was her name again? There is a woman at the end of my bed. Cloaked in white, Hazel eyes mirroring mine. Shining with guilt or relief, I can’t say. She glides towards me, Light as a feather. Soft hands cup my face And I am seven years old again. XOXO, Michaela

  As I prepared for college, I was inundated by adult relatives telling me the same thing: Enjoy it! These will be the best years of your life. I always found this sentiment quite puzzling. I mean, as adults in your 40s and 50s, your 20s were the best part of your life? As a second-year, I enjoy college. I love being within walking distance of my friends, restaurants, and other shops. I enjoy my classes—learning about women’s studies, how to write proofs, and fiction writing. It’s extremely enriching and has broadened my horizons.  However, I look forward to getting a job and having my own apartment. Being able to shower whenever I want. Having complete autonomy over my life. Lately, I’ve been doing research about the seven feminine archetypes out of curiosity. One of them is the Maiden. The embodiment of youth and innocence. She is Snow White and Sleeping Beauty. Waiting for Prince Charming to rescue them from their tower. It’s not lost on me that social media is inundated w...

Growing up, I was always bigger. Broad shoulders, thick thighs, big boobs, and a tummy. Even at my most fit (I played soccer for many years), I still had a tummy. I had muscle as well. At 17, I was almost 200 lbs. In my first year of undergrad, I barely ate and walked everywhere. I was constantly on the move. In the span of 10 months, I had lost 20 lbs. I’d gone from 189 lbs to 169 lbs. My thighs were smaller, my backrolls almost disappeared, my boobs got smaller, and my tummy got smaller. I was elated, and so was my family. I felt beautiful for the first time. But it came at a cost. Due to my lack of eating, I suffered from frequent migraines. My head would be in terrible pain in the mornings, something water couldn’t assuage. As I began my second year of undergrad, I made a promise to myself that I would eat more. At least one or two main meals a day. And it has helped. I don’t get as many migraines as I used to… but I’ve gained weight. Instead of 169 or 168 lbs, I’m now 173 lbs....

  Beyond The waves pulled the girl out to sea. Its powerful hands enveloping her like a mother would a child. Powdery sand swirling underfoot. Salt spun air fills her nose. So tiny amongst the endless expanse of turquoise and cobalt. Alien in her own world. Should she even return? To their cruel comments And hearts of malice. Or remain with the creatures of deep. With their jellied heads, Frilled gills and puffed spikes. Her father’s harsh voice shatters the reverie. What will it be? Fear is never knowing what lurks below, Regret is never venturing beyond the reef, But freedom is losing sight of the horizon. Choose wisely. XOXO, Michaela

  I couldn’t describe an orgasm. Not even if I tried. But for you, dear reader, I shall try. There’s something transcendent about it. Fingers working in tandem with the sensations pulsing through my body. The way they flick and rub my sensitive nub, ushering me to a higher plane of existence. Carnal fantasies swirl around my head. Strong hands gripping soft flesh. Red marks painting my thighs. Mouths nipping at my sensitive buds. The messiness of pleasure. It’s like running a marathon. Muscles tensing as every caress draws me closer and closer to the edge.  Until I leap…and soar.  My back arches off from the bed, drawing raspy moans and murmurs from my lips. Body thrashing back and forth from the overwhelming thrill of being airborne. I ride my high until I cannot float anymore. I’m left breathless. My body singing with sleepy comfort. A dopey smile spreads across my face. My fingers sticky with the residue of my pinnacle—its slight saltiness tantalizing. Earthbound as we...

"A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me" - Mary Shelley, Frankenstein Growing up,  Frankenstein  was my favorite novel. The trope of a mad scientist playing God is both bone-chilling and thought-provoking in its exploration of humanity's often violating curiosity. Victor Frankenstein's attempts to defy death delineate a sort of womb envy that bypasses women entirely. A theme I find extremely fascinating. Over the past few months, I've watched a handful of Frankenstein adaptations and riffs (thank you Tubi!). Of these films were  The Brain That Wouldn't Die (1962) , Re-Animator , and Frankenhooker . These were a hoot to watch. Absolute cult classics. While they err more on the comedic side, I found myself drawn to the subtle themes about female autonomy and the male gaze. The Brain That Wouldn't Die (1962) "I told you to let me die" - Jan Compton The defining feature of ...