Poetry | ANGLES

TOO STUPID

Tell me the truth,
I’m shrinking, aren’t I?

She lifts her shirt,
pink bra, white skin.
Her ribs plead escape.

my untouched tongue
growing goose bumps
as I learned that touch
isn’t always gentle.

if you swallowed up the entire world
she would probably be the only watermelon seed
who hates the color blue.

when men with swastikas walk past I swear even my blood goes quiet

I’m fine…

back on cement, maybe this is what they call hitting rock bottom

maybe he loved us
the same way the cat did
secretly perched atop my toddler bed

ode to the city i leave behind // i pledged allegiance to a dying culture far too late //...