girl made of cigarettes

my limbs are doll joints

unable to wade,

my head slathered

in lilac oil and bleach-dyed ends,

my mascara mourns the undereye

and shades pockets made

of cold metal and burnt ash,

my palms catch the ribbed sunlight

of the window, dust

as a golden mist of light,

my stomach wraps

the polyester fabric

of a dull cradle,

my splintered lips kiss the match

and set the flame,

white and gray to rouge,

because after all,

i am a girl made of cigarettes.

Gabriella Escobar ‘26

I saw a photo of a tiny sketch of a woman dancing on a cigarette, so I got inspired. Visual imagery does a lot of the work for me. I attributed certain adjectives and details to a writing exercise I completed in my creative writing class.