dear oliver,
i’m sorry. i’m sorry
that you have a fat,
hideous best friend.
or even if i call myself
that. you don’t need me.
i don’t deserve you.
dammit, i almost
lost it at the store,
oliver.
my fingers traced the
edges of the price tag,
the price didn’t blare
out, the only thing
that did was the size.
i can’t be that fat, can
i?
a sudden shuffle passed
by my side as i looked up.
a young girl with long brown
hair raised her eyebrow
at the shirt in my hand,
extended her hand and
reached for the small size.
a little scoff came out of
her lips as she left the
aisle.
go away. please.
quinn
YOU ARE READING
zero
PoetryQuinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is...
