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Every morning I sit at the kitchen table over a tall glass of water swallowing pills.
(So my hands won’t shake.)
(So my heart won’t race.)
(So my face won’t thaw.)
(So my blood won’t mold.)
(So the voices won’t scream.)
(So I don’t reach for knives.)
(So I keep out of the oven.)
(So I eat every morsel.)
(So the wine goes bitter.)
(So I remember the laundry.)
(So I remember to call.)
(So I remember the name of each pill.)
(So I remember the name of each sickness.)
(So I keep my hands inside my hands.) (So the city won’t rattle.)
(So I don’t weep on the bus.)
(So I don’t wander the guardrail.)
(So the flashbacks go quiet.)
(So the insomnia sleeps.)
(So I don’t jump at car horns.)
(So I don’t jump at cat-calls.)
(So I don’t jump a bridge.)
(So I don’t twitch.)
(So I don’t riot.)
(So I don’t slit a strange man’s throat.)
— Jeanann Verlee; ”Good Girl” (via spookybebe)

you are an exit wound

the extra shot of tequila

the tangled knot of hair that has to be cut out

you are the cell phone ringing in a hushed theatre

pebble wedged in the sole of a boot

the bloody hangnail

you are, just this once

you are flip flops in a thunderstorm

the boy’s lost erection

a pen gone dry

you are my father’s nightmare

my mother’s mirage

you are a manic high
which is to say:
you are a bad idea

you are herpes despite the condom

you are, I know better

you are pieces of cork floating in the wine glass

you are the morning after
whose name I can’t remember
still in my bed

the hole in my rain boots

vibrator with no batteries

you are, shut up and kiss me

you are naked wearing socks

mascara bleeding down laughing cheeks

you are the wrong guy buying me a drink

you are the typo in an otherwise brilliant novel

sweetalk into unprotected sex

the married coworker

my stubbed toe

you are not new or uncommon
not brilliant or beautiful

you are a bad idea

rock star in the back seat of a taxi
burned popcorn
top shelf, at half price

you are everything I want

you are a poem I cannot write

a word I cannot translate

you are an exit wound

a name I cannot bring myself

to say aloud

Exit Wound - Jeanann Verlee

(via spookybebe)
©