Where are you going?
I see my arch nemesis on the subway
and she is laughing.
She always laughs.
I skip my stop so I can
judge the way her knees
curve inward like there’s something
in between them
worth hiding
Her golden hair falls in her face and
I Vomit
Her cheekbones graze the
ceiling and I
Laugh with her,
Or at her?
Her smile, precious,
illuminates the train car and I
Gulp.
Arch nemesis,
Where did you learn to
fall on follies
the way men
fall on your Heels?
Arch nemesis,
Why do I only see
you after I scrape
my fleshy knees
on the bottom of a
Whiskey bottle?
Arch nemesis,
When you go
home
and take your makeup off,
Do you realize that
you are just
as ugly as me?
The first time I questioned
my sanity,
Or lucidity, rather,
Was when my mind started
playing tricks on me during a
Lexapro withdrawal.
I woke in a state facility
In a body that was
still sleeping,
Its tired legs
dragging across the linoleum floors
Its hands
fumbling
to open the plastic wrapper of
Stale crackers
And when I looked in the mirror,
I asked myself,
“When did it come to this?”
When I left
that place
I became
A different person.
Not on the
inside
But I fought for days to
erase
the bitterness
I felt
for what happened
A betrayal of
myself
that I dug deep beneath
layers of
Foundation and liquid eyeliner.
I didn’t want
anyone who knew
To remember.
I dug so deep that
to this day,
I leave orange stains on pillowcases and
Mark my presence on steering wheels
Remnants of
drugstore vitality —
I’m only here
when I’m not.
Arch nemesis,
Why are we always on the
same train?
How do I manage to
meet you
in between Lorimer and Graham
On the last train
of the night
In a car that is
empty?
Arch nemesis,
People ask how it’s possible to
disassociate
yourself
from
Your own
body,
They question if I
am multidimensional or if
I am just a
Flake
But those are the people who have
no idea
what it’s like to
fall
into a hole of
Creativity
While building
compromise after compromise
in loud bars
that smell like yeast and piss.
Is this our stop?
Arch nemesis,
What if I
told you
that loving
yourself was
as easy as walking on water?
Or if I finally confessed that the
small love notes
you leave me
in lipstick on my bathroom mirror
Aren’t for naught?
Would you believe me?
If not now,
then later?
Arch nemesis,
where are you going?
Don’t forget me.
I want to
remember you
the way
I remember myself,
Fold you up into a perfect paper triangle
and slip you into my back pocket
you remind me of
where I have been
and motivate me to
proceed to where
I am going.
Arch nemesis,
it’s raining outside.
If you remember,
cup your hands and drink
the holy water from god
and know that somewhere,
on the brink of Brooklyn,
I am in the midst of a
makeshift baptism in
murky bathwater.
I’ll remember this.
See you later.
