mother of swords

my lips are moving and i’m ready
to wait outside for the party
to be over. my fists meet skin
and i’m sorry that i got caught,
that the nose bled and my mom
found out.

i’m burning notebooks
full of love poems and optimism,
youth and yesterday’s
coffee rings, ripped corners
and handwriting i don’t recognize.

it’s a dominance thing. if i’m not
the best, what’s the point? if you don’t
want me, what’s the point?

ELIZABETH ANN is a New England poet who spends a lot of their time writing about the horrors that come with living there.

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