by Erin Nuttle
I don’t know what exactly i was wearing that mid-march day The lunchroom was buzzing like usual with a group of girls in front of us gossiping It was probably an oversized shirt hanging from my shoulders & barely touching my budding chest Maybe a purple plaid skirt Maybe tiny black shorts that wrapped around my legs like a boa constrictor I’ve forgotten the name you gave me I don’t know what exactly i was wearing that day at school But i know that the clothes i wore have been erased from my memory Censored & barred & burned from my mind I don’t know what i was wearing but i know that as soon as i got home i slept for hours Years I know my clothes were baggy & soft The events of that day have meshed together Thrown into a witches pot Stirred together to make a mothers pumpkin pie What color were my nails painted that day Did i paint my nails that day? You told me i made you cum Am I looking at the boy i knew from elementary school anymore? My porcelain hands were shattered that day and the dollmaker couldn’t fix her I remember every time we kissed To reroot your frustration to me I don’t know exactly what i was wearing & maybe i’ll never know But i miss us before mid-march
erin nuttle (she/her) is a writer and poet based out of michigan. she enjoys listening to crazy electronic music as well as petting her cats, penny and roxy.