yeah i guess it’s too late to kill myself.
at this rate, i’ve spent so much time keeping
myself alive that i might as well bandage
my wrists and take the rocks out of my
pockets. the way my skin rests on my bones
makes me nervous. the knowledge that someone
else has touched me, has seen me, knows about
me — it’s unbearable. but science says
in seven years i’ll have all new skin and
it’s been 1 month since anyone else has
touched my body. i guess i could
elaborate and say i’m thinking
about going to a gay bar to hook
up with strangers ever since things got called
off, but that should be expected of me
at this point. the best way to get over
someone is to have someone new to spill
all your secrets into, to put your mouth
between someone else’s legs, to have
a stranger’s number light up your cell phone
screen. i know i’m, like, ugly, but i’m funny
enough to get laid, and good enough in
bed to forget anyone else has
ever slept with me.
~~~
Lizzy Ann is a New England poet that often writes about New England and the horrors that come with living there.
