Salad

I am standing in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror 

Eating salad, the leaves all droopy and curled

I like how my collarbones look in this shirt

The one I told my mom I didn’t like 

I don’t know if I like it or if I didn’t like the person I was trying to hide from 

My creepy-ass uncle or myself, what the hell 

My armpit hair coils itself outside the short sleeves 

My lips taste like lettuce leaves 

       when I lick them 

I like how it feels, how it tastes—

I want to leave it in my mouth and go to bed with a chewy, earthy tang on my tongue 

The bowl isn’t empty while brush my teeth 

It probably catches the droplets of spit I can’t see in the sink 

There’s two croutons and three leaves in there

There’s your salad, dad, I ate it 

I really fucking hate it