past closed doors,
I wondered if I’d ever feel completely human again.
Exhausted
but too buzzed to sleep,
I pulled out some stationary:
Dearest Adam,
Always great to hear from you.
You’re a regular well of information.
Why isn’t any of it ever good?
If you happen to see my dad again,
tell him not to bother keeping in touch.
He’s a shit and I hope his new girlfriend
gives him herpes. Or worse.
How’s it going with Giselle?
(Were her parents on something
when they named her?) I’m sure she
gets high if you’re attracted to her.
Have you two done the dirty yet?
As for me, I’ve got two boyfriends.
One is too busy to keep me out
of trouble. The other just raped me.
I think it was rape, anyway.
Can you define the word for me?
Oops. I think I’m sounding bitter.
Better close now. I need to cry.
(Maybe you didn’t want to hear that.)
Love you, too, K … Bree
It Was Mean
So mean, it made me feel
better