i'm hanging out
like faded socks
on window-sills waiting
to be dry.
i'm keeping up
my favorite act today,
walking bare-footed
on inappropriate surfaces
and pretending as though
i don't see you entering rooms
or sitting in the chair beside me.
won't look up at the disarray of
ash-blonde tufts staring at me
as your head bends, fixated
on something far more important
than my repetitive banter,
so i just won't speak.


in my resentment, i have grown to hate you,
taking up my time
investing in less logical things,
like the candid nature of dogs in heat
and the impracticality of
wearing shoes that don't fit.
i didn't eat for twenty-four hours
and i felt proud when i could fit all of my fingers
around my wrist.
i'm a sick little portrait of the ever-determined
lady-bitch who crosses legs and self-evaluates
every fucking move,
and you don't god-damn notice when i'm absent.

listen you asshole,
you call me 'toots' one more time
i'm gonna let the whole fucking world know
how thin your dick is and the gestures you made
when you thought you'd made me come.
you don't have to announce it,
it only took a minute for the both of us to realize
that you were the only matter in your
over-inflated head.
eat your ego with your dinner
and stop trying to make small-talk,
i liked you better when i thought you were dumb.




by the way,
they're tits, not radio dials,
and my climax?
an over-enthused excuse to
get you the fuck off me.
so stop being so over-eager,
you're pointless.
i'm waiting for the excuse you give me
to spit in your face.

05/09/2006

Posted on 05/09/2006
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer