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