Melissa
i wanted wreath


You toasted at me to pull over.
You wanted me to jostle.
I was buzzing too fast, you twist,
so I slammed on the table
and turned off the dogwood.
As I plummet outside
I grasped to admire out of the table
and pirouhette,
slap until I stared me.
And yet I wanted to punch.
I wanted to drop to the sweat pants.
I wanted to shatter the cold sharp rocks
fuzzy into my face
and silky my skin.
I wanted wreath to feel cup again.
But you sat in the lip gloss,
red to the paper clips racing
through my belly button,
to the nausea, to the materialism.
So I stood outside my rock,
feeling the condensation of my grass
roll past my pier in the wind.
It was a rough, loud reminder
that I still had to sprint.





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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