::10:20:08::

::: Fortune :::

Its like the sex magazine you wanted the cover of. The bra you had to learn to wear. Its admiration for the C Town Town chicka who did her job so damn well. Its like the friend you agree to cat sit for. The same one who deemed the feline a male, but ended up naming it Nala. Its your man referring to women as females. And then boy child who compares an arcade to the beauty salon. Its answering your phone, midnight, to the one you left. And she is drunk and crying.

Its the mirror that slides off the dresser without breaking. But makes the noise of broken glass. Its digging for blood every month. Praying for menstrual bleed. Then feeling it stain your black panties sitting on the 6 train in the yellow green light while feeling unkind.
Wash it away in the Chinatown cave. Breathing wonton air. Its the walk down the block from the Kingston stop. The one that can't be over fast enough.

Written by: ~ Meghan Fitzgerald