Where The Wild Things Live

My feed is an endless stream of politics opinion pieces and poetry, I untangle myself / from the hot messes and Buzzfeed banter only to get tangled up again / in the comments section below – where the wild things live / alongside racism and xenophobia and the policing of women’s bodies / shamed and ridiculed until I feel dirty just by looking at words on a screen as if

They can see me sitting on the couch, slurping wine from a coffee cup / shoving m&ms into my mouth staining my lips a mix of red and blue / (because I’ve always been suspicious of the yellow and green ones) / while they tear me down, piece by piece, champions of humanity

Hiding behind their keyboards, hunched over the monitor one finger / hovering over the enter key for just a second before they send off their vitriol, excited / by the constant flow of verbal incontinence that projects from their mouths

They lick their lips saucily, removing their hand from inside their jeans to / wipe the sweat off their brow, eagerly awaiting their next target to dare step / into their cyber space – discussing topics that don’t concern them like the fact that

Abortions are hard to come by and tampons are too expensive – because if a woman / talks about sex openly she is a slut, but if her vagina is used for anything other / than a resting place for their lumpy cock, well they just don’t want to hear about that

My feed is an endless stream of gender roles and Nice Guys™, people who would prefer / if I sat there and look pretty, meeting their impossible standards; people who want / to govern my being, telling me how to think and feel…

They are the wild things, and this is where they live; sitting in a basement / with their WiFi connection, making me feel dirty and tearing me down, bit by bit / until I log off in a flourish of anger, only to log back in an hour later / and do it all again

Raelee Lancaster


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