is the only line I can remember
from the first poem I ever wrote
on my mom's old Smith-Corona
on a thin, cheap piece of paper
with typos and strikethroughs
before that was cool
and when I think about
all the pieces of me
I let him eradicate:
clothes, shoes, makeup
pictures, journals, poetry
friends, family
all those moments
all those pieces of me
just -
gone.
there I am, again
spiraling in magma
equal parts rage
and pain
I bought the ticket
to the worst ride
of my life
and I am so tired
of paying for it