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birthday money


Why am I not some soldier’s virgin child bride?

You told me that I don’t really want to be chained to the radiator

I just want to tweet about being chained to the radiator

We used to joke that you took me from Russia, that I was eleven

Too little to drink whiskey even

A man offered to buy me a Chanel dress

Or a single etherium token

But all I’ve ever wanted is a decent life, a bathroom with pink tile

a doll house, a baker’s rack, some rare species of berry growing in our backyard

Having a baby as an excuse to spray out consumer goods

Having a family with a man who comes from demonic amounts of money

I would never actually choose to defend myself with an AR15, says the heir to an arms manufacturing fortune.

There were advertisements for ketamine infusion therapy projected onto the sidewalk beneath the rollercoasters on Coney Island

In tasteless shoes, with useless brass buckles

I ask you: Did Roman Soldiers have imposter syndrome?

The boys in this town will tell you that they’re not into breath play

The bruises will develop like Polaroids




Anika Jade Levy edits this magazine.
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