My hands are dry and cracked,
And my breath smells like ***** and cigarettes.
My throat hurts,
But I’m not sick,
Although that’s what I’m going to tell my professor tomorrow
When I don’t show up for class.
***** feminist theory.
I thought it was a worthy cause
Before it was violently shoved down my throat,
Just like my fingers tonight after dinner.
I’m getting really good at this.
Everyone is suspicious, though,
And I don’t know
If I really care.
So I’ll just keep smoking my Marlboro Blacks
And dashing to the bathroom after every meal
And wondering if I’ll ever look in the mirror
And not hate the girl I see
Staring back.