trite

she’s got her suitcase by the door

the last day of camp.

I’m a failed anorexic-

thickheaded even though

my thoughts are too thin.

who I love is

who I am

when I’m with her-

and it has almost nothing

to do with her:

it’s me,

having an excuse

to just create myself one more time

showing off, proving once again

I’m bright,

funny-

powerful…

but most of all, that I can.

Feeling like

I might be able to

make it all go right

even though she tells me

as she reaches for the door

it’s out of my hands

and that feeling is all wrong.