The summer I turned pretty except...

I’m the cosmos’ weird Barbie and there is nothing I want to do about it. Still waiting for the autism diagnosis, even though I was always on juice box duty. I think I saw space up close and personal but maybe it was just that lollipop melting into cement. (Being weird online isn’t just a trauma response, it’s my trauma response.) The juice box was pierced with a violent fist and spilled everywhere under my watch. If fate wants to intervene again I can’t stop her, and I don’t think I want to. The cosmos holds my hair back as I throw up too many emotions; how long does a person have to be dead before it’s archaeology instead of grave digging? When there is no one left to grieve for the grave. It’s too bad that I mourn for every body, celestial or not.

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Another response to Kelly Mullins over at Poetry Trapper Keeper! I am beyond grateful for the amount of inspiration they give me - Kelly, Larissa, and all the other creatives who have had work shared through PTK are truly remarkable.

C x