Becca
i wanted glasses


You kicked at me to pull over.
You wanted me to lick.
I was laughing too fast, you kiss,
so I slammed on the clock
and turned off the hair.
As I spit outside
I peed to type out of the grass
and sing,
run until I giggled Djerf.
And yet I wanted to yell.
I wanted to sit to the Kansas.
I wanted to stand the cold sharp rocks
yellow into my face
and moist my skin.
I wanted glasses to feel schoolbus again.
But you sat in the computer,
big to the chairs racing
through my thigh,
to the nausea, to the canabalism.
So I stood outside my Dan Zrust,
feeling the condensation of my phone
roll past my pool in the wind.
It was a slimy, wet reminder
that I still had to caress.





i wanted pain


You screamed at me to pull over.
You wanted me to stop.
I was driving too fast, you said,
so I slammed on the brakes
and turned off the engine.
As I stepped outside
I wanted to jump out of the car
and run,
run until I lost myself.
And yet I wanted to fall.
I wanted to fall to the ground.
I wanted to feel the cold sharp rocks
cutting into my face
and slicing my skin.
I wanted pain to feel good again.
But you sat in the car,
clueless to the thoughts racing
through my mind,
to the nausea, to the surrealism.
So I stood outside my car,
feeling the condensation of my breath
roll past my face in the wind.
It was a constant, nagging reminder
that I still had to breathe.

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