I am using the candles on my
twenty-first birthday cake
to burn “grow up” into my knees.
I am in the front row at a show,
realizing that if I heard this song two years ago,
I would have thought about you.

Thinking about you takes effort now.
You no longer pour out when I open my mouth.
These days, if I want to bleed you out,
I have to grab a knife.
—  The Dust On This Poem Could Choke You, Lora Mathis
Reworked this poem for the Fem Lit Mag. FULL POEM HERE
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