sorry specimen

he wanted to write poems with girls inside them, with his girlfriend's smudged lipstick and compact mirrors cracked and left behind in the sea of couch cushions. he wanted to write poems about a girlfriend who was a mysterious redmouthed lady, be leonard cohen. i wasn't much of a girl like that.

i am not a muse. and if you don't respond, well then i don't want you to, sir.

all past boys were prettier than i was, or am, but they kept waiting for me to "be the girl." and i'm a dork.

mm. just, thinking about it over dirty dinner dishes, confused sunsets. (i still have dish pan hands.)

and

don't comment; i don't want you to.