By Isabella Blu Ptito-Echeverria
Voices Editor
“You’re a nose-picker, head-splitter, tooth-breaker, shit-eater!”
A finger pointed like the metal bat of some beer-bellied wife-beater.
Yet it’s me she’s yelling at, with her foul-breathed, baseball brat of a tongue singing ghastly words, just for fun
But she ain’t wrong,
I’m a head-splitting, tooth-breaking, shit-eating cheater.
The scene is so cold I’d buy some sweat by the litre
The rose-scented witch I was with didn’t like me either
I try to feel bad--
I’m like a child on a seesaw when I see her
the weight back and forth, from leg-to-leg, it teeters
Who made it so playgrounds were built?
To let our wild-child out with no guilt?
It’s a facade, because at the slightest tilt
You’ll find yourself balls-deep in a rose-scented, world-shattering, divorce-inducing aether.