by Faith Robinson-Hughes
Faith Robinson-Hughes (she/her) is currently in her Junior year and majoring in Film with a minor in English with a concentration in writing. On campus, she is involved with clubs and organizations such as: Black Student Union, Tapestry, and the Broncs Box Office. As President of the Broncs Box Office, she is working hard to connect with other artists to help encourage a safe environment for creative expression. Her hope for Venture is that it will become another safe space for the Rider Community to foster relationships and a deeper understanding of one another.
Skin glows like diamonds in the sun, she writhes beneath the heat.
Face perfected for the gods which pick it apart with their teeth,
Separating every hair and freckle on her delicate little body.
Time only sees the light of day when the brush is on her cheek.
The alarm rings when her bones don’t sit right.
Like clockwork:
Pat over my tears.
Brush on my smile.
Eat your mistakes.
Dress up my wounds.
Pull out my desires- there’s a tear in my dress, right along the seam.
Momma warned me about that. Said it came from too much loving.
But my dress glistens and glows with newborn dew, unloved and untouched.
She promised this would never happen.
If I followed the hands on the clock, tore out the ache in my spine, quieted the hunger in my heart, made myself tiny for him…
I’d be scooped in his palm with the gentlest of touch, and my dress would always be guarded, always be new.
Momma warned me about this. Choose the hand right. Some fingers have blades.
But my dress glistens and glows, unloved and untouched.
Oh, how I wish there were fingers without blades to have my dress guarded and kept anew.
But surely the clean fingers are merely a myth, as I’ve never seen a dress without tears at the seams.