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.
lemon yellow press 