The voices in my head
sure talk a lot more
to my battered brain
than I could ever
talk to her.
Maybe if I go
to try on some clothes,
I could see her
and ask her
on a date myself.
My eyes scanned
her up and down,
and I tried to count
all the tattoos
on her that I could
to keep me calm while
I walked to the fitting room.
Our eyes met,
and she asked me
how many clothes I had,
but I could even
barely say 'two'
without panicking.
I had planned on talking
to her when I got out
the fitting room,
but by the time
I got out,
she was gone,
and my chance
had flown by.
YOU ARE READING
I Was She
Poésie[Complete] A series of poems and short stories tell the sad tale of a breakup, of rejection, and of finding new love. From losing her soulmate to learning to see the world from a different perspective, M.A. Rivers writes down every last feeling that...
