She leans from her window,
and dries her hair,
half-conciously hoping to be seen.
She has done everything that
was required,
and to her friend, who is fond
of her,
she offers an accomodating body.
Sometimes they speak of love.
Often, in crowds, she mistakes a
casual word for her name
and turns to see who calls.
June 2018
5 years ago
3 comments:
This is what a big fan I am of your writing- I remember this poem! It was in your journal from when we were packing up your stuff for your big move. You wrote it when you were visiting NYC, right? And the reason I loved it so (love it so) is because i completely identify with being that self-absorbed- nothing matters unless someone see it. you can tell someone else it's about a girl but i know it's about you. it's about me. it's about us and that is why we are we.
E.Lo: Go check your mother's uterus. I'm pretty sure I left some of my things up there when we bunked for nine months.
I LOVE this.
I wanted to take it on a three-day weekend to a B&B.
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