How to Use Tinder

Dear Eve, be humble in
the face of images of
the male species.

You want to be bullied and mocked.

Please expunge your robust music,
the legato lapsed in a
deconstructed longing.

Hear the dust of phone numbers pile up.
Check for notifications every five seconds.

Notify him, Adam for the sake of attachment,
that your jumble of clowns
that look like question marks
are in there for him, a god to poke holes in.

Yes, no, yes.
Feel the bravery for
tolerating drug-addicts.

Keep your head buried in
times that work for his rope hands.
You owe him, he owns you.

Remember, you both are merely
figments of the eye’s imagination,
so you are not to be seen as confident.

Just stand there at the edge of the window,
avoiding the temptation to wear clothes,
with palms touched upright,

begging for forgiveness
for touching his waking moans.

Just wait until you become
an addict of ghost’s lust.

Again and again,
up and down,
darkening the flame of me.
Like a speck of dust,
longing to love the goodbyes,
fucking is for the flies.

Hanna Pachman is a poet and filmmaker who uses writing as therapy to conquer objectification, health issues, and robot brains. Originally from Connecticut, she currently hosts a monthly poetry event, "Beatnik Cafe" and is an Assistant Editor for the poetry magazine, Gyroscope Review. Her poems appear in Anti-Heroin Chic, Fourth & Sycamore, Oddball Magazine, and Aberration Labyrinth.