This poem is a train ticket
purchased with leftover savings on New Year’s Day
held tightly to my *******
as I avoid lingering stares from a man who smells like ***
and the group of pubescent boys hovering next to me in line.
This poem is an empty seat
next to a window in the back of the cart
the perfect nest to pour out my pestering thoughts
onto coffee cups and jelly stained napkins
in hopes of suffocating the drumming noise inside my head.
This poem is the rattling isles
that shake my core and mix the worry
deep into the churning of my stomach
isles full of agonizing questions and peering eyes
analyzing my every step.
This poem is my journey home
away from his pretentious kisses
from his callous grins
and guilt ridden sorry’s
back to the girl who could ride on trains alone.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 4:20 PM UTC
This poem is a train ticket
purchased with leftover savings on New Year’s Day
held tightly to my *******
as I avoid lingering stares from a man who smells like ***
and the group of pubescent boys hovering next to me in line.
This poem is an empty seat
next to a window in the back of the cart
the perfect nest to pour out my pestering thoughts
onto coffee cups and jelly stained napkins
in hopes of suffocating the drumming noise inside my head.
This poem is the rattling isles
that shake my core and mix the worry
deep into the churning of my stomach
isles full of agonizing questions and peering eyes
analyzing my every step.
This poem is my journey home
away from his pretentious kisses
from his callous grins
and guilt ridden sorry’s
back to the girl who could ride on trains alone.
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