On our first date, she talks about her trauma

by on April 15, 2024 :: 1 comment

and she says, “You’re not saying anything”
and I tell her I’ve said a hundred things,
maybe a thousand words
since we sat down here
in this bar where everything is blood-red pitch-black

and we’re stuffed into chairs for kindergarteners
and she says, “Tell me something interesting”
and I think of all of the facts stuffed in my skull,
how much I hate the fucking ads online and
offline and supermarket apples can be up to

a year old and how you can’t hum if you hold
your nose and how the coworkers when I worked
in China all told me the moon landing was fake and
there’s an ant species that’s only found in Manhattan,
but here comes her trauma again, like leaves, and my V.A.

PTSD counselor told me not to share what happened
with anyone except therapists, because the world
doesn’t want to hear about certain traumas and this
poem would never get accepted if I told you what
happened, so instead all I will give you is fake

chandeliers and overpriced drinks with fruit carved
into umbrellas and this woman who has eyes the color
of ants I stepped on one time, a pile of them, in Arizona,
where they climbed up my leg and stung me with
the intent that they were going to do it for a million years.

editors note:

Nothing stings worse than indifference. – mh clay

Comments 1

  1. Marie Higgins

    First date aside, one half of each of us wants the world to accept who we really are, and the other half of us hides in fear of being found out; what has me thinking is whether or not I agree with the counselor’s advice

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