Apathetic in my adolescence,
my heart is fluorescent. It flickers
like liquor store lights in the ghetto.

Two sad eyes and one skanky smile, I practically pulse with the promise of promiscuity. I'm easy to catch, but too slippery to hold onto. Men love a challenge if the prize is guaranteed. I know how to start a fight while deepthroating a white flag.

And then he's somewhere inside of me, each thrust rattling my ribcage like a bottle of pills. I'm somewhere outside of myself, thinking about lust— about my slutty white sheets and all the men who like to hide in them.

Under the influence, I am easily influenced. I try to keep my pants on, but some things are easier said than done.

Years from now, I will pass this same park, and I won’t remember any of this.
Instead, I will feel something like a spark— a heat like August
in a suburban town,
and a desire to grow
even when I know I’ll be cut down.

And then he’s somewhere inside of me, each thrust rattling my ribcage like a bottle of pills. I’m somewhere outside of myself, thinking about lust— about my slutty white sheets and all the men who like to hide in them.