Basement 

basement boys
forcing female hands over the cliff face of zippers on jeans
washed lovingly by their mothers

forgetting those women were once girls
whistled at and touched by uninvited palms.

these American
boys-will-be-boys

make us slam our knees in the Rothko aesthetic
/black and blue/
pollock reds on our forearms and calves

trying to cut out the basement
/we will always be trying to cut out the basement/

and as much as you pushed my head with your hands
I will shred my nails
crawling my way out
into my teens
into my twenties
until I’m cut short by my own disgust

because now I can’t live in basements
I can’t feel the underground
except to relive dirty hands in my child hair

By ryn

Biography:

ryn is a hermit who spends her time writing, feeding bees, and playing with stray dogs. she runs a poetry/rambling twitter and has previously been published in Occulum and has pieces upcoming in Moonchild Magazine.