darling: poems by colleen cosette goodman

inside of my arm

Some girl takes the length of my arm and traces her pink fingernails on the inside. If one can watch their body shrivel up can they return it without the receipt? Some girl does not know how I have sewn those parts of my brain up. In brain surgery they keep the patient awake to make sure they're doing it right. I am awake and I am not doing it right. I am spilling Brains I am guts and blood. This girl is not real and she doesn't exist but she has curly hair. She's pretty. Her name is something soft like Ella or Lucy. The part of me sewn into my Brain wishes to take the back of her head and kiss her.