Goth Bitch
“I’m goth as fuck, even when I’m not in black.”
— Princess Nokia
GOTH BITCH strutting through a pastel / ghost town, cat pausing in the street / to stare—gray-fading-black fluff silhouetted / against pink stucco at sundown—GOTH / BITCH making paltry conversation / with a butter-faced gym rat / in the liquor store parking lot off Route 1 / just to feel like she’s still got it, GOTH BITCH / writing her novel on the end / of the world at the edge of the world—/ the constant crash of Rehoboth winter waves / roaring beyond the open window, barely
visible in the misty rain—GOTH BITCH / going mad at the constant washing / of the hands each time she touches / any surface of her cheap hotel room / (with its coarse sheets & clamshell mirror) / for fear of the virus that will keep / keeping tourists away long after the sun / sucks the misty rain from the sea, / GOTH BITCH filling pillows with mugwort / & swearing she’ll dream of you, GOTH / BITCH giving head to coked up strangers / behind the sandy dumpster, GOTH BITCH
flinging herself around you, stamping / out your light, & leaving—giving / new meaning to the term “star-crossed”—/ GOTH BITCH watching reruns of Rupaul’s Drag Race alone / in her black silk bathrobe texting / her goth friends about fracking & the disappearance / of bees, GOTH BITCH
needing more time / to figure out how to leave you on the cusp / of a pandemic, GOTH BITCH
“blooming 4 u” / like the lips of the titan arum, / GOTH BITCH pouring honey on her / Jericho Rose (freshly watered) as she / films a time lapse of its opening tendrils, / GOTH BITCH wearing
jewel tones for the summer, / GOTH BITCH growing a garden beneath the fire escape / in her new apartment, / GOTH BITCH going gray / at the temples where she just stopped / losing hair, GOTH
BITCH calling leather bears with / sigils on a waxing moon, GOTH / BITCH ignoring your long emails / full of pictures of your weird sad / breakup art, responding / three weeks later with four- / word replies, GOTH BITCH lighting candles / anointed with hyssop & then / fighting with her roommate / over when to snuff them out.
Jacob Budenz is a queer writer, multi-disciplinary performer, and witch with an MFA from University of New Orleans and a BA from Johns Hopkins University whose work focuses on the intersection of the other and the otherworldly. The author of Pastel Witcheries (poetry chapbook, Seven Kitchens Press 2018) and SIMAETHA: a Dreambaby Cabaret (experimental play, Baker Innovative Projects 2020), Budenz has fiction and poetry in Slipstream, Wizards in Space, Entropy Magazine, Pussy Magic, and more, as well as anthologies by Mason Jar Press, Lycan Valley Press, and Mad Scientist Journals. You can follow Jake's performance, music, and writing on Instagram (@dreambabyjake), Twitter (@jakebeearts), and the internet beyond (www.jakebeearts.com).