To All My Vices


to the woman downstairs

who stared at me with haggard eyes

the first week I moved in,

whose greeting words were

“you’re the one upstairs?

ugh, you’re always so loud.”

her door was only barely ajar,

and her dog yapped righteously

through the crack.



to the “everyday man”

in his “everyday car”

who flexed his “everyday right”

to shout vulgarities at me —

just a girl on her bike, free and pleased 

after her first day at work —

until that first “fuck you” flew past my ears.



to the second man who,

ragged and powerless on the sidewalk,

attempted to gain some by

condescending my way;

“too cold of a day to be wearing something like that”

he said as he eyed my pink skirt,

and all the vulnerabilities

he thought it represented



to the third man I trusted as a friend

and sometimes lover, who

in response to my ask:

“what are the most important qualities in a partner?”


“big boobs”

and sniggered silently at the sparseness

underneath my swim suit.



to my once-friend

and their text sent at 6:53PM

while I sat in this ritzy restaurant

half a world from home, waiting

for our 7PM dinner to begin;

an eager swell quickened in my gut

as I saw my screen light up, and burst

seconds later by the halfhearted sorry

that pierced like a needle. my skin,

already stretched too thin,

broke then.



to my close friend, distanced

by time, and the last time

we met, your words, warped

by all the “ethos’s” and “jurisprudence’s” and

“textual materialities,” fell on my

deaf, dumb ears. though I did hear

you say “someday, I will write a book,

perhaps many, and be published.

In my career, it’s just a fact.” a fact

thrown so cavalierly in the air —



— my eyes watched it wearily, wantingly, waiting

to catch it and hold for myself.






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