star

I don't want the cold hallways,

their chill seeping underneath 

my thin regulation gown and settling in my bones.

I don't want the nurses,

with their tight, sympathetic smiles

I cling to the rollicking waves of our tumultuous friendship before they slip from my grasp, white-knuckled fingers and tangled legs praying not to be tossed astray by the unforgiving current.

They sit in the back of the bus,

the shimmer of secrecy ignited in their eyes,

her head in his lap, his hands in her hair,

her lips twisted in that sickening smile. My neck aches 

from looking behind me, and my

We're backstage, giddy with nerves and

tired out of our minds, whisper-laughing as we mess 

with our hair, with each other, try to put on makeup in the dark. 

She's hidden, cowering in the corner,

as she waits, mouth open,

words frozen on her lips.

She does not speak.

I mold my sadness into poetry and she watches me,

amber eyes taking in everything and nothing.

If I close my eyes it feels like I'm still there.

I can hear the clatter of plates and the clamber

to be first in line for breakfast,