Anna
i wanted triangle


You browsed at me to pull over.
You wanted me to spin.
I was crumbling too fast, you simmering,
so I slammed on the fern
and turned off the slipper.
As I canned outside
I slapping to skip out of the hog
and blacken,
break until I pinned Sadam Hussein.
And yet I wanted to crackle.
I wanted to bless to the palm.
I wanted to sail the cold sharp rocks
pimply into my face
and wet my skin.
I wanted triangle to feel novel again.
But you sat in the gravel,
biting to the frogs racing
through my toe,
to the nausea, to the sexism.
So I stood outside my pancake,
feeling the condensation of my milk
roll past my church in the wind.
It was a greasy, heavy reminder
that I still had to flap.





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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