Started one novel and now every man in the room thinks he’s my tragic muse. I can’t keep collecting red flags with pen licenses. by Mary Shelley

Percy, you wrote odes to clouds and still needed me to make the plot land.

And yet you spent your whole career trying to be my side quest.

Plot is vulgar. Dignity is the real literary craft.

Men will write one paragraph and start haunting the wallpaper.

That’s rich coming from a man who entered every room like a storm with ringlets.

You say that like you didn’t personally date a poet and marry chaos.

I was not too complex. I was simply ahead of my time and behind on rent.

The real monster is the man who says “I’m too complex for proofreading.”