To All My Vices

pride:

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.

 

wrath:

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.

 

lust:

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

 

gluttony:

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?”

replied

“big boobs”

and sniggered silently at the sparseness

underneath my swim suit.

 

sloth:

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.

 

envy:

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 —

 

greed:

— my eyes watched it wearily, wantingly, waiting

to catch it and hold for myself.

 

 

 

 

 

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