bite the inside of my
cheek to taste the blood
run my tongue over
and over the sore
tender as i chew
the doctor said my iron
is too low, dangerous even
though i didn’t ask
so i swallowed a rusty nail
no wait i don’t do that anymore
love in me slides
honey slow through spread
fingers except the worst
parts stick together
drying, flaking, heavy
i bet your mother still
likes me best even if
you hate my guts
do you want to slurp them up?
no wait this is not that kind of poem
i meant to say—
collectively i am no one
assembled parts, not a whole
a hole, maybe, or several
strung together like empty eyes
a fishing net cast into salty red seas
Natalia Queenan tries very hard not to write but does it anyway. She studied neuroscience and English at Barnard college and knows very little. She is @fakenutelIa on Twitter