Words like aspartame, like sweetness, but not really. Like sugar that doesn’t hurt your teeth, like she does. Diet Coke. Fall rain pounds down like a father at the door, open it to see eyes of melanoma and rage. I speak quietly and you ask me if there’s something wrong with my mouth. I say you can fix it with your fist, please fix me, hit me like love. Hit me like my lips are an invasive species, crush me like an aphid, I don’t care. Words like aspartame. Like sweetness. Not really. Serial killers keep trophies, like cufflinks of teeth. Yes, I know, I wash my thighs twice a day. Sometimes I make myself pulse. That’s a confession, I think. I tear open my arms and legs and still call myself clean. I wash, I clean. I lace my converse with twizzlers. Aspartame. Diet. Not really. I get high and blame that for the binges, munchies. Cakes, Reese’s, seeds, lovers. Hatred. Hair on my legs. On my arms. In my pockets. Cut it with my knife. Cut sugar. Cut something. 

Published 8th March, 2026.

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Ronit May is a twenty year old nonbinary poet from New Jersey. Their work has been published in The Closed Eye Open’s Issue XI, The Blood Pudding, and The Trillium. Their chapbook, titled Don't Wait Too Long, I Love You, showcases their struggle to navigate life with OCD and bipolar I disorder.

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