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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