Richmond’s official Blameless Lesbian Collation meets weekly at Starbucks

I hear your girlfriend likes to spend her free time at the Starbucks where you work.
Where we all know, your rich a*s finally found employment.
All my haters come together for delicious mixed ice lattes
you made with your hands.
Their teeth clench straws while they rub lesbian elbows in friendship.
This whole town can rot in its own s**t filled grapevine,
I. don’t. give. a. f**k.
If I could take it back I would have went to an out of state college.
Where I could drop my baggage in places unlike home,
where I could blame the anger on folks unlike my own.
Its the accent, I could say. They think its just my southern and my gay.
It could be a location thing.
But the only lesson I learned from Richmond was to never fall in love
with a girl that owns the same name as the damn county.

If I could scrape away my fingertip lines,
I’d memorize group chants and point fingers with the best of them,
Finally detached from my scarlet letter.
The pinned perfect red velvet sweater I hid to shrink in the oven.
Too small to claim as mine, you recognize and pull my product from the kiln,
drizzle sugar on my mistakes and feed others my fines.
Cookie cutter f****r, wedged safely between the remaining good side.
lightly crumbled over white chocolate chi,
We can sip and blame me together.
I’m still the only one that was out of line.
And I wonder if your happy gets boring sometimes.
Wonder if your first Christmas tree has even one broken light.
Wonder if Jen Dennis eats her words or chokes on mine,
offering up a body like initiation ties.
My bones are the sweetness in their coffee,
organic muck ground to dusty sugar secrets
I gave up in the confidence of the stairs of our shared flat.
Tricky pieces I let escape my edges,
Just the ache from the swollen setting
Of the newly burnt letter A in my side.