I Wear Undershirts

another night out. -enjoy-

 

I’ve done it again.

Like I always do; In

backseat and parking lots

With boys I know only

enough To roll with.

 

I laughed And

shook With

nervous energy

And awkward positions.

I made us known.

 

He wanted

To, I didn’t.

I did, But

couldn’t

let myself do

it Again And

again.

 

His eyes On

mine Made me

Tense. And

it showed, He

felt it.

 

The horn honked And

I remembered: I

wear undershirts.

Now.

 

And the King Of Carrot Flowers

Saved me. Through

the trap door. In

the side of my

head? Yes: No: Please:

I don’t like holy rattlesnakes.

Reviews

[Rachel Eisenberg]

"And the King Of Carrot Flowers
Saved me. Through
the trap door. In
the side of my
head? Yes: No: Please:
I don't like holy rattlesnakes."

This is kind of fast and crazy and heavy. Like you're moving, spinning, falling too fast to really tell what's going on. Confused, whirling... Crazy. Heavy.

Some of it makes sense. Some of it doesn't. I personally don't think there's a problem with it not entirely spelled out. Confusion is good, sometimes.

The idea of undershirts is kind of cute, I guess. Especially with your photo. Like, not needing the faculty of a bra. Nice. I miss those days... -sigh- ((guys are so mis-informed when it comes to b***s; they are a hassle. end of story))