she calls herself PEACH GIRL,
and she is pretty.
a pretty, pinky, peachy girl
who wears blush and highlighter and skirts.
she knows how to cross-stitch and is learning ukelele.
she once made mini cheesecakes for all of her friends
in cute little cups with flowers on them
(that she secretly wanted to save for herself).
she pretends strawberry is her favorite ice cream flavor,
but it's okay
because the nickname is for her ears only;
a secret identity she whispers to her reflection and her reflection only.
PEACH GIRL is too soft.
she bruises, lets people step on her,
and is squished into a pie.
she scraps the recipe,
dusts powered sugar off her name tag,
and reinvents.
she calls herself FLOWER GIRL.
she buys overalls and changes her favorite season;
she grows artist's callouses on the bottoms of her feet.
she goes on hikes and picks wildflowers to put in vases.
FLOWER GIRL is lonely.
turns out mountainsides look prettier
when you're holding someone's hand,
so she calls an uber at the highest peak
and chats with the driver on the way home.
she calls herself BASS GIRL.
she learns how to wing liquid eyeliner.
she shaves her head.
she pierces her nose and immediately hates it,
she gets a bus pass and memorizes city streets.
she trains her heartbeat to speed up,
to keep time with Chicago's heartbeat,
and pretends she isn't irritated by the pounding in her head.
BASS GIRL doesn't have what it takes,
and is probably going to get herpes if she doesn't slow down.
she panics,
lets her piercing close,
shreds her bus pass,
listens to classical music on the way home.
she is SNOW GIRL.
january blizzards trap her inside a weapon of her own creation,
but she can't help that her responsibilities are built next to distractions.
she doesn't wash her hair,
she drinks too much coffee,
she curls up in bed and stares and nothing for hours.
she makes pasta every day for lunch but still can't get it right.
she hopes the snow never, ever melts.
SNOW GIRL is sad.
sad, and scared
of what she let happen to herself.
she looks in the mirror
and misses her secret.
misses the reinventing,
misses the outfit personalities
that were so fun to try on.
STAR GIRL reaches out her hand
and caresses her cheek.
she glass ripples;
she kisses stargirl's knee.
look at you, stargirl. she whispers.
look at what you've become.
my voice echoes against the tiles,
and i have never been so happy
to hear myself talk.
YOU ARE READING
Lonely Thoughts
Poetry~technically, every day is leg day when you're running away from your problems~ ((alternatively titled: please enjoy my laughable poetry.))
