By Yoda Olinyk
Copyright ©2025
It wasn’t all bad — the lonely nights masked by my own fingers
between my legs first thing in the morning. The life coach
who only spoke one language: pleasure. Had me in front
of the mirror, massaging my own skin as she stirred a cocktail
of affirmations on a zoom screen in New Mexico. It worked
for a while — the glowing skin, the constant drip, drip, drip —
the side effects flavoured with a heavy rose quartz wand
and a jade egg and almond oil studded with my own finger-
print. But none of it made my lonely smaller. My reflection
didn’t even move to the same rhythm of my own hands.
That life coach from New Mexico who spoke only in pleasure
told me there was no cure for these kinds of ghosts. “A man?”
No. “A woman?” No. Just what I was willing to face in the mirror.
Just what I was willing to stroke of my own making. A good girl,
doing what I was told, legs spread, a soft beginning, and when
I reached my hands up, there was blood and a poem.
About Yoda Olinyk:
Yoda Olinyk (she/they) loves to make people comfortable, which is too bad because she is a poet. Their poems have been published with Button Poetry, The Shore, Sky Island Journal, and in many other beloved journals. Yoda works full-time as a writer and abortion doula - you can find more of Yoda's work at www.doulaofwords.
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