Cope Soup

I don’t really know what to say.

I always know what to say. 

It’s a weird feeling; waking up 

like a confused child having to 

move away from her bedroom 

and all her bitchy school friends 

each morning. 

Eleanor Put Your Boots On

never made more sense.

It always felt a little cohesive 

in each stage of my twenties;

where being hot and 

getting fucked were priority 

because if I ever became 3 dimensional

I’d break. 

I love him.

I love him.

He’s broken.

He’s too pure. 

Ew. 

Slap me please. 

That girl in tenth grade U.S. history class 

was right…

I wreck homes. 

I knew I needed Amy man as a partner 

that day.

I preemptively asked her…

the relief on her face was evident. 

She was a real new kid.

The trauma of it all 

still evident even a couple years later.

What was it?

8th grade? 

She had already dated my neighbor 

and put my middle school bitch face 

in its place by then. 

I needed to be new.