I had my luggage packed so securely

no toilleteries would burst. My black

nail polish stuffed in some jean pocket,

thongs in my ziploc, and my tickets

organized like the Virgo freak

i claim to not be. Enter my mind

to go on a rollar coaster ride. 

Remeber Belmont Park? Right over the bridge to enter Montreal,

cotton candy stuck on our skin,

haunted house making us crack up

and days that never ended.

No one had kissed me on the lips then,

except for Paul,

but that was ‘no tongues’. No name

first boyfriend showed me how to

make out for one hour straight on a

an old coach at Jo-Jo’s. His tongue

felt like a lizard, and now I smile

at him at funerals. 

I take charge too much,

take care of everyone except myself.

Check my tickets for the tenth time

in one hour

as if my demon ghost

can ever get that close.

I have this meeting

to make sure

i actually do exist

and i can leave

everyone behind

without looking back.