trashing

Christina Strigas

in the middle of the day. Jack sings

while I wrap gifts, get paint in my

fingernails, no fake colors here.

you talk about me as if

i can’t hear or read. follow or not.

do whatever pleases you.

i’ll be here, listening to the

same ol’ songs tapping my foot

any time of day. jumping

naked on the bed. bra flung

over your tie. panties

long gone (did i even wear

them?) did you forget

i write stories? i invent

scenes, acts, characters.

did you forget i have a

problem? label me

hypersensitive; crying over

everything you say about me.

i ignore for a second or two

and then i’m running

as usual, you say. don’t forget

to bring milk, you shout

as i grab my purse and keys.

you’re going out like that?

yeah, and fuck off.

fights, trash talk

bite me when i come back

with my…

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