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awake

by Angela Thomas

i always write about my bed and my hands
because for years and years they've both
been alone. and i've been filling them
with meaningless one-night stands, lovers

saturating my sheets with the stench of cigarettes
and cool water aftershave. i've been giving
my body to any warm, drunk source of comfort
that gets me wet between my legs. but for the first

time, my hands and my bed have been empty. void
of all human contact for months and i am sober,
laying on my back and staring at the cracks
in the ceiling. only this time, i'm not moving

and it's quiet. i keep thinking that surely
someone will call me. one of the men from my life
must miss me. want to talk to me. need me to fill
their hands and their bed. but then i remember,

i was to them what they were to me. a substitute.
some random, just-good-enough-to-sleep-with-tonight
kinda gal. not the kind of woman that you want
in your bed or your hands full time. i was a whore.

03/23/2008

Posted on 03/24/2008
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 03/24/08 at 04:12 AM

That last line? Wow. And...wow. Amazing work.

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