i'm standing around on the corner
of the street, shifting from foot to
foot in this sort of hopeful, wildly
unfounded--yet not entirely impossible
hope that you'll come out the side
door, we'll run into each other, and
somehow. this will turn into us be-
coming friends.
and i'm waiting, and waiting, and
waiting. i'm becoming restless, and
oh my gosh. have i been physically
sober and metaphorically high this
whole time?
i've been standing around for someone
to tell me they love me, and i had hoped
it would be you, then it would be success,
and i still want those things, but crap.
was i wanting it for all the wrong reasons?
YOU ARE READING
NOT MEN'S FAVOURITE
Poesie"The boy who pulls the girl's hair--is that love, or someone constantly displeased?" In NOT MEN'S FAVOURITE, this prose-poetry chapbook explores feminine anger, the wisdom of boundaries, and using one's womanhood to heal their girlhood. New poems re...
