Meb Byrne

23

In personal, storytelling on August 29, 2011 at 3:39 pm

i’m losing weight.

the fabric of my stomach is loose,

ribs and hip bones straining against my skin

as the flesh falls away.

.

i drink too much coffee now,

cheap and black and bitter.

i like the way it makes me feel,

all jittery and parisian,

like a model.

.

my hair is past my shoulder blades,

knotted and braided,

unmanageable.

it falls in my face.

i don’t think i’ll cut it.

.

strange,

to come from new york city,

all tight clothes and tight smiles,

stilettos and concrete,

where i was happiest;

.

to come west,

where i feel so lost

(but the good kind of lost)

.

where all i want is open space,

old books and big sweaters and vegan food,

yoga and mountains and my record player

and the feeling of your skin on mine in the morning.

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