Femininity is the warm paraffin smoothed on stubbled legs
like the breathe of a psycho before the knife.
Handfuls of cotton strips primed out like cursed mummy rolls
I bid adieu to unloved hair, and the layer of skin holding my fake tan.
Returning monthly to the sighs and shrieks taking turns to lull me into the certainty
of knowing that the only sure things in life
are death and waxes.