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tinyplaidninja — second-hand stilettos
Published: 2013-03-02 22:01:22 +0000 UTC; Views: 202; Favourites: 0; Downloads: 0
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Description
there was once a therapy sessionwhere we were all whores
we spent the time
moaning in circles and painting on
lipstick. I’ve never
talked so much before.
you should have come—pay
by the hour and split the cost.
the trashcans were filled with
plastic Subway bags and Styrofoam
coffee cups and still smoldering
cigarette butts. the ashes
disintegrate.
put on my skin-tight
sequin shirt. lipstick
is smearing. it’s all right, they said. it
comes off in the wash. only make sure
you have raccoon eyes and cut your hair
‘til it shines. no calling necessary.
we’ll come to you.
it’s snowing. bundle up, said
the therapist. we sat
in our circles dripping melted snow
onto the linoleum. ending on
prepositions was a trick I learned early, he said.
fill your head
with fast food and maybe that way you’ll
be too distracted to remember that
your mind still works when you
close your eyes
that way only one world
plays like a horror movie. I forget, sometimes,
that I don’t live in the 50s. life isn’t so bad.
open my chest;
I left my necklace there. why’d
you hide it behind your
lungs? I don’t mind
the blood.
you poison
my poetry, whore, make it echo with pretend
white smiles beneath
invisible eyes. go back to your
therapy sessions.
you’re too tall for those heels.
