Meb Byrne


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,


it falls in my face.

i don’t think i’ll cut it.



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.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: