Hate Department
Cringing in a corner
doesn’t suit her,
much.
She does it anyway.
Waiting
for the feelings to change,
in bold breaths
breathing.
Slipping her eyes;
something less formal.
She has that “stay away from me” look
down pat,
because she cares too much.
Always the problem.
Her emotions burn
like cheap cigarettes,
cold.
Almost surreal.
And she can feel the sand
in her teeth,
the heat of her skin,
steam.
She knew this moment inevitable,
tried to wish it away
with small gestures.
But it came just the same.
