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saturday

I. my roommate is an extended sigh she wakes up every morning and makes French-press coffee, which is foreign in my household she has a soft heart, liked a bruised peach and when I smoke weed in the evenings she talks about art house films over sautéed cucumbers and I pretend to listen II. I read somewhere this morning that you should replace all your “I’m sorrys” with “thank yous” like, instead of “sorry I am such a mess” it should be “thank you for loving me unconditionally thank you for wanting to have my name coat your tongue thank you for refurbishing my past like an antique dresser” I haven’t once spoken these words since being with you III. I walked down College without headphones I could hear my blood’s humming voice I carried the same three treats I bought with you: a brownie a s’mores bar a Ruffles chip marshmellow square at Crawford, I could hear you in the box scratching like a rat when I got home, I lit a candle and ravenously ate you on my bed
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Written by
rebecca-gismondi
Canadian
Published
Apr 8, 2017
Lines·Words
40·181
Tags
#poem#poetry#poet#thoughts#writing#female#writer#toronto#canada
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