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This is the crooked little workshop behind the art —
a place for unfinished poems, scattered thoughts,
ink-stained pages, visual art, lyrics, stories, fragments,
and all the strange things still becoming themselves.
Some works found here may one day grow into
finished collections of their own.
Others may remain scraps, sketches, or
wandering little creatures left exactly as they are.
This is where the roots show.
The drafts.
The late-night ideas.
The beautiful mess before the pieces
find where they belong.
So come wander through the malice.
The Malice World
No
When a mother says 'no', the sky convulses. Oceans climb their shores like beasts while rivers run red with blood. Temples split open. Ancestors weep ash. Entire cultures are swallowed whole by the sound of a woman drawing a line. When a mother says 'no' to proximity to her children, to private words with her children, to hands reaching for her children, the sky weeps while men clutch their chests as though boundaries were bullets. Hearts stop. Nations mourn. The moon abandon
Malice Blūm
Jun 72 min read
Dandelions
[Trigger Warning] This poem contains metaphoric descriptions of sexual violence and may be distressing for some individuals. To be a dandelion, bright in the sun, a yellow bloom where bees arrive, one by one. Petals sway and hum with the breeze, tiny wings, gold-dusted from the trees. Roots firm in earth, yet reaching for the sky, a fleeting gold that catches every eye. The field hums softly, alive—a gentle tide; each blossom bright, yet fragile at its side. I watch my peers
Malice Blūm
Jun 62 min read
The Bear
They asked me: "Would you choose the man or the bear?" I replied: I chose the kind smile, and it stole my happiness. I chose the gentle voice, and it convinced me I was nothing. I chose the patient hands, and they left me broken and bruised. I chose the comforting presence, and it stole my innocence. So they asked again: "Would you choose the man, or the bear?" I replied: I chose the bear. We wandered through forests in search of honey, and when he was hungry, it wasn't for m
Malice Blūm
Jun 51 min read
Starvation
The people of this world— the makers, the healers, the working hands— are rising at last and taking a stand. Enough is enough, we finally say. But the corporations answer: It'll never be enough as long as there's more we can take away. The rich don't care for the sick or the poor. While we're hungry for food, they're hungry for more, more, more. We're drowning in debt, in disease, in despair, while they're drowning in wealth and still grasping for air. We struggle to live, th
Malice Blūm
Jun 42 min read
You're It
In summer school, the heat was mild, where Dona wore shadows, unreconciled, a hoodie draped past face and frame, invisible in all but name. She sat in corners, eyes cast low, and prayed the world would let her go. Then came a voice, both bright and near: “Tag, you’re it!”—Dona wished, not here. A boy with mischief in his grin declared a war, and drew her in. He sketched a scowl upon his thumb, and grinned like she should see the sum. She almost laughed—it cracked, then died—
Malice Blūm
Jun 42 min read
Woman
To him, I am just a piece of meat, a champion's boast, a sacred land conquered, a name added to a list that is expected to be long while mine is expected to be nonexistent. I know I am more, but expected to act as though I am not. I cannot be a scholar, a writer, a teacher, a healer, an activist, a woman. I am expected to be slut, mother, filthy, clean, maid, wife, woman. Eye candy with artificial colors. Dessert platter with artificial flavorings. Appliance with artificial o
Malice Blūm
Jun 22 min read
Teddy Bear Puppy
My teddy bear puppy, you've fought so hard, through sickness, through injury, through every unfair card. You should have been chasing tennis balls, a Berner lounging by the fence, stealing socks, leaving muddy pawprints, living life without suspense. Instead I watched you tremble, lying down was too much pain, your giant frame still standing as your strength began to wane. Night after night I stayed beside you, counting every shaky breath, wondering if the morning sunlight mi
Malice Blūm
May 303 min read
Lucky
She tells me I’m lucky. You’re so lucky you’re pretty. You’re so lucky you have blonde hair. You’re so lucky you have blue eyes. You’re so lucky you speak with an accent. You’re so lucky you’re white. I’m so lucky? Her words root me to the earth. My heart cracks open as my daughter tells me how the girls pick apart her reflection at school. The white girls, the brown girls, the blue-eyed girls, the brown-eyed girls, the straight-haired girls, and the curly-haired girls, the t
Malice Blūm
May 292 min read
The Daughters Rise
They told us we were made to bow, to bite our tongues and pray; but every scar that marks us now sharpens our every blade. They called us wild, unfit, unclean— then turned from what we bled; they feared the power in our red, the worlds our wombs have bred. We’ve buried sisters, named and blamed, their ashes fed the ground; each stolen voice we claim as ours now rings in battle sound. We rise for those they silenced here, for those who burned and bled; their voices linger, sha
Malice Blūm
May 291 min read
Still Here...Still Rising
I see you, child, in a house of stone, learning too early to stand alone, the hands that should guide instead caused tears, yet you found the courage to face your fears, a spark survived where the dark had crept, a soul still rising though silence wept. I see you, teen, with the night as your bed, a bridge for a pillow, the stars overhead, cast out or escaping, yet still you fight, you carve out a family from shards of the night, your feet keep moving, though heavy the cost,
Malice Blūm
May 262 min read
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