flying out of me

dead batteries

all of my wrist watches are dead
but i wear them anyway.

yes, i’m being that girl, the one
with beautiful messes, the everything

not on purpose; babe with bedhead;
venus with sliced vice.

i remember circling  gift stores,
a furious search for tchotchke

to knock around my heart forever,
to pump important nostalgia and gloom,

to remember the vacation out west when i
got my first period, blood on the shower floor,

dry heat and canyon dust stuck to my young young parts.



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