I bought some new cologne
Some boujie chique cologne
It’s not that cheap cologne
That sexy creep cologne
That lather your tits and perfume your shits cologne
It’s that fancy stuff, that silver-spoon stuff
That rose-flavored, prose-flavored nightmare stuff
It’s those empty sheets on Summer streets
Call again soon and then back on your feet
You can cut yourself shaving but don’t leave a mark
Date in the park
Monday morning still on a high
And all night long to the sounds of the sky
Precum, reruns tormenting your skull
Don’t tell her she’s broken, don’t shatter the spell
It’s that fine cologne
There’s no time cologne
Whiskey, tequilla and brine cologne
Blood on your clothes
Concealed but exposed
Cashmere-trench-coat-sleeve-flavored stuff
Unwanted attention is never enough
It’s that broken cologne
Never open cologne
Numb to the scent as you try to atone
It’s that hammer-and-saw
That tea-on-the-floor
Rice-cake-and-cheese-when-you’re-back-home-at-four-on-a-hot-Summer-night-in-the-rain-flavored stuff
Love-drunk-and-horny-for-pain-flavored stuff
It’s that neon light at the end of the night
Spray it on thick and then set it alight
It’s that hypocritical, neurotypical
Manicure-pedicure-parlor cologne
It’s dirty now you’re it’s captive
And without it you’re unattractive
You’re washing away and you’re staying afloat
Scrubbing dry skin as you claw at your throat
As you start to pour the unwanted cologne
Skin scrubbed raw, this discarded cologne
It’s that one-at-a-time
And-I-hope-you-don’t-mind-but-I-wanted-to-know
It’s that don’t-disappear
It’s that baby-don’t-go
It’s that maybe-next-month
Maybe-next-fucking-year
More-gimme-more
Baby-don’t-disappear
Trivia, the music-hall
The sentimental dream
Pour out half the bottle now and listen to them scream:
Who did this, what are you, this monster, this beauty, this hot fucking mess
Blowdry your hairdye and drown in your dress
Drown until morning and all the way home
We’re drowning together in my new cologne
It’s that “why-won’t-you-fuck-me” forgotten cologne
Drink it all down, it’s that rotten cologne
And stare at the stars
But don’t look at the scars
Spray them and soak them in my new cologne.
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Bella Lincoln is a twenty-six-year-old trans-femme student of English Literature with an interest in poetry, theater and the classics. She is also a tremendous fan of film and podcasts and is currently navigating the world of gender and what it means to be trans. She does not claim to understand the experiences of everyone around her, but she is a fierce advocate for empathy and creative expression. Her intention as a writer is to explore issues of identity, friendship and mental health with a focus on gender and celebrating life.
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image: MM Kaufman
Rejection Letters 