don’t remember me don’t remember don’t look at 

those photos of us 

that turvey topped night when 

neither of us knew up from down 

or if it was true that we were loved 

i asked you 

(three times over, i asked you) 

am i pretty?

do you want me?

over and over

slurring my words to make a 

painting of uncertainty 

i wanted to know. 

and the night was so young 

with you on the playground

drinking another shot of whiskey  

staring out the stars 

you said yes. 

i held on to your shoulder and you took 

me back to home 

( a makeshift tent in the woods

with my best friend only a 

foot away) 

and touched me

in small circles up and down my stomach 

nestled into the crook of your neck. 

half way through i wanted

to scream 

and slap 

your hands away 

because i felt dirty 

and not like i did before.

but i kept quiet. 

how would you know? 

and you looked so sad 

only minutes previous 

crying into my warmth  

that i returned with too much enthusiasm 

telling me you were worth nothing

until i silenced you with my body. 

but now you have pictures of 

something i want to forget 

too red lips and 

brash stupidity 

and my fingers along the curve of your rib cage 

not something joyful 

rather 

something secret.