by Zoe Stoller

Adam, and how he thought I was 24 and how
Erika didn’t know I wouldn’t forget. I drew red on

my fingernails and it stained my shirt and I dream
of falafel and my back turns to sweat. Backstage,
and I remember dancing, and Molly kissed Peter

too but I slept in his bed. My electricity’s off and
the pencils are permanent. My tea tastes thick and

it hurts to swallow. He grabbed me in the city
and my virginity on the phone. Next I am who I
wouldn’t ever really be, and maybe I would sing

except I can’t. Jake, and how he doesn’t miss me.
How I’m anything but that. I had one option but I

gave it back. His mustache went up my nose.
I keep the tags on and the receipts in the trash and
in 15 minutes I have to walk 3 minutes and then

get up after 70 minutes and walk 10 minutes and
then I don’t know. I should put on a dress or different

shoes and fix my hair. I should turn the lights on and
take my medicine and stop shivering before I fall asleep.
My bones, and how I can feel the water drip into my

stomach. And the loud gulp before it hits the bottom.
The boxes under my bed, and how I can’t reach the floor

and how the windows are closed but I feel the dust. How
he loves sex and how my fingers crack. How he’s getting
rich off mistakes. How I’m asking for my throat back.

Zoe-StollerZoe Stoller is a sophomore at the University of Pennsylvania, originally from New York City. Her writing has been recognized by organizations such as the American Scholastic Press Association, the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and Teen Art Gallery. In addition, one of her one act plays was produced in a theater festival Off-Broadway in 2013.




Image credit: justine-reyes on Flickr


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