in all of her inert
dazzle-eyed fluidity,
i always wanted to be her.

you know her.
all of you do.
effortless, cinched.

she had a boy's name and some how,
somehow that made her cuter.
easier to talk to and less precise.
she had real blonde hair, baby-blue eyes
and black lashes, pumped up like
seashells right to your ear,
and everything with it.

the ocean.

and i would think about fucking her.
and in my fantasies i would be the man
and she would love me because she didn't love anybody.

i always wanted to be near her
and find out what she did in the bathroom
and how she wore her hair before bed
and what she used to brush her teeth.
how she sounded when she came
and what her mouth did when she sucked on chocolates.

if she chewed it up right away
or let it melt into liquid.

i always tried to let mine melt
but i'd get greedy at the end
and start to chew.

i wanted her to fuck the men i'd been with
just so i could ask her what she thought.
i wanted her to be jealous of me just once
for something i couldn't control,
like i had softer lips than hers
or my nipples were perpetually erect.
something/anything.

and in the end,
what would i have done with her
had i gotten her alone?
tell her i wished i could be her?
ask her if she shaved every day
or just when she remembered?
and did she ever wonder about me
when i was sure
that no one else did?

no.
it doesn't matter.
i could never tell her that shit.

01/22/2008

Posted on 01/23/2008
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer