by Karo Ska

inside me, strawberry jam 


before leaking, dripping 

then gushing. an 11 day early knock 

at my cervix door. the moon 

& me unsynced.

the moon: predictable, well-

behaved. not me. not

this month. does my flesh crave

reproduction? is it angry 

i won’t host a family

of cells? i have

no home, no land i can call

my own. i can’t grow

children without roots,

i can’t grow glass

inside my skin. i flush

ragged parts of me, refusing

a darwinian legacy. what

is success of species

in a world of children

caged or children

shot or children

starved? what is success

if not burgundy blood, flowing

down my leg, screaming

i’m alive.

Karo Ska (she/they) is a South Asian & Eastern European non-binary femme poet, living on occupied Tongva Land (aka Los Angeles) with her black cat muse. Anti-capitalist & anti-authoritarian, she tries to find joy where she can. Her first chapbook, gathering grandmothers’ bones was released on February 29th, 2020. For updates, follow her on instagram @karoo_skaa or check out her website

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