escape/ 65

So you kiss the boy and you stop

thinking about drowning, stop

overthinking for a split second,

but then he touches your waist

and suddenly you’re aware of how

big it is, how wide is is, how even

though he’s kissing you, he 

still thinks you’re fat, how even

though you’re kissing him, you

still think you’re fat, but then his

hand moves higher and your

mind is an old television set, 

your thoughts are being 

scrambled- all you can hear

is static, so you kiss him, and

you forget about shrinking for

a while and expand in his arms,

until you’re almost a world, 

until you’re almost a girl not

afraid of her own body, of 

her own mind, but it never

lasts; you used the boy as 

an escape route, as a panic 

room, as a sign that things 

don’t always have to be

twisted, but the boy always

has to leave, and you always

have to return to reality- that’s

the thing about escape, it

never lasts forever, that’s the 

thing about the boy; you can 

kiss him now but what happens

when he leaves and you 

still want to shrink? That’s the

thing about running away, 

somehow, you always end up

back where you started.

seasons/ 64

It’s the middle of summer now, 

but nothing has changed, I 

attend funerals like they’re 

parties, receive bad news like

they’re just the rent I pay for 

living, look cancer in the face 

and then look away- being alive

isn’t as much fun when you 

know what awaits you at the

end, being alive isn’t as much

fun when all the people you

know are on the other side of 

the grave, it’s the middle of

the summer now, and the

sun glares at the earth with a

passion everyone feels, the 

scorching heat hits my back, 

burns me to shreds, but nothing

has changed- no matter what 

season it is, I’m still burying the

dead, still unable to move on.

habit/ 63

There’s this habit that 

follows me all day long, watches

me trip over my own tongue

till the only words that

can be heard are the ones I’m

regurgitating from the past, 

you see, I’ve always had

trouble adapting so sometimes

I just dont, I just carry 

home around till nostalgia is

is a noose around my foolish

neck, you see, I turned longing

into a lifestyle and now I’m 

stuck in a rendition of a past

I’m ready to forget, but 

there’s this habit that 

follows me all day long, and

I don’t think I’m strong enough

to ask it to leave, don’t think

I’m strong enough to

douse it in gasoline, don’t

think I’m strong enough

to leave it in the past.

existing/ 62

Sometimes existing feels like/ holding my own head under water/ trying to breathe/ but/ drowning instead/ sometimes/ existing feels like choosing to be shot at/ when/ I could have just swallowed some pills/  sometimes/ existing just seems like/ the harder option