father/firefly

by Nikita Kohring

I have never seen a firefly in person I would like to

hold one and watch it light a candle on its face

wince and flicker a sweet bug, molded with wax

its body will warp in time stomach cut open, sick

with leftover mistakes. my mistake for thinking you could change

me, a path of bruises into someone good

good and gold and Godlike. my father hates boys more than

he hates me or himself because he once was one and look how that turned out

he’s not mad at me, he just wanted to hold the world and he has only me

he’s mad at blue light bathrooms and he watches you, boy-bug, repeat the cycle of

me, loving me. our history, that of blue gray girls and matchstick boys.

we love each other but we don’t know how to love each other,

just like how I know what fireflies look like but not how one would feel in my palm.

Nikita Kohring is from South Florida. She edits for her school's literary magazine, Seeds in the Black Earth, in which she also has two pieces. She is featured in Bullshit Lit's second anthology and has been recognized by the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers. You can find her @ratglrl on Instagram.