I haven't been honest.


Chaz only sends me snaps of
bunched rosettas, I want to tell
him, move your pitcher back
as the stacks form so that you
get a more elongated pour
but I don't want to deter him
from correlating steamed milk
and espresso with my name, so
I don't. And he has a new girlfriend
now with slim fingers and defined nostrils
that make me think of Audrey Hepburn, so
at first I tried to insert myself into their bubble
to be a part of their happiness or maybe just
Audrey's beautifully sculpted features. But
to be honest I stopped talking to him
back in May or March because we had
this sort of thing that I didn't know
how to handle and so many girls
had handled his **** since then,
since me, that nothing felt like
it held any concrete significance,
pursuing whatever it was that I
was pursuing, would not make
me feel any more whole, which
was what I was aiming for.

over the summer
I had a brief romance
with a boy named Ty
whose tennis shoes
were six years into
a can of Grizzly
Wintergreen
on the Kansas
plains. I thought
about kissing him
a couple times when
he told me about wanting
to go to college but his
interest only went
as far as my arms
could reach, the
length of my
hair down my back
and the 5 minute drive
up Skyline that I never took
with him because he only wanted
to hotbox in my car to breathe his
past down my throat. And after
that, he told everyone I was too
much of a good girl and



left.

Perhaps the fact
that I chased a boy
who ripped me to shreds
says a lot more
about me
than it did him.