Confessions

 

This is my very, VERY rough work of the day. There is so much I could add to this…haha!

 

Confessions

When my father died,
I did not sleep for 3 days.

At 19, I believed that boys who smelled
like campfires and peppermint or oceans
would make the best lovers.
I wasn’t wrong.

I learned to hunt
because I was hungry.

I killed a kitten once.
It was an accident. I swear.

I fell in love with New Orleans in a single night,
its jazz musicians and beignets and trolleys,
its gas lamps and tombs and voodoo
and shadowed doorways,
its dirty streets and fish stink.
We still talk. It’s awkward.

I’ve had an abortion
and have never regretted it.

Sometimes, I lie
just to see what will happen.

I had sex with a handsome
blond tour guide in Amsterdam. Afterward,
he slipped a yellow tulip
into my bag, his name
and phone number written
across the petals in black ink. I never called.

I never cheated on my husband.
Not once.
But I wanted to.

I sleep so much
because it is easier
than writing poetry.

I write poetry
because it is easier
than making eye contact.

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