Year
fair-weather friends—
cut-out paper dolls unfolding
from white paper
cheering triumphs atop pyramids
successes, not struggles
overlooking sturdy shoulders
and bruising practice falls
you start to look the same
row after row
flat and colorless
strung between triangles of air—
pieces of you, missing
that harsh hands snipped away
crinkling and wavering
i see through you
i want to crumple you
pile you in the corner, without care
as missed shots at the wire basket
beneath my desk
because i have other shots to take
with more weight
than paper
This poem was first published in Wanton F*ckery.