People love you but you haunt me.

You’re murky in areas, clear in others.

I lay in your chaotic belly: turning, twisting

tugging me in every direction.

My eyes dart this way and that, trying to pinpoint one spot to focus on. To rest.

But there you go: here, there, pushing me forward, rocking me sideways, causing me to sink deeper into the one thought I want to throw towards your darkest, most hi...

“You’s pretty, just ain’t top shelf is all,” he says, yanking my ponytail upwards like a fishing rod reeling me in. He leans over, his whiskey breath stinging my ear:

“Problem is ya aim too high, my dear.”

But what the hell is so great about a shelf topper anyway?

My eyes: two balls bouncing with rage.

The men I seem to pick, they never turn the page.

They read from one book: the one they pen t...