Patience

by Lizzie Case

Hook me up to an IV I am surviving

The red Sharpie that bleeds into my unconscious

cheeks at 15 mimics the faint marks on my 16-

year-old wrists

Does it mean I’m not sad if I’m too afraid to draw

blood?

Image credit: sebastiaan stam on Unsplash

I reapply the Band-Aid just so they can rip it off

like a Brazilian wax

Which, by the way, I should have gotten

Now my pussy is bare like your strong hands

around my neck at 21

Pinned against the wall, and somehow, it’s my

fault

The label on the bottle says best taken while

intoxicated

Instructions: swallow back those tears

Chase the pain with your pride and the pills that

you pour into your palm

But your palm is pressed against his chest

His lips are pressed against your face

And he won’t pull away

You don’t want him to stay

You want to say stop

So, you plead and you pray and he won’t go away

But the prescription says be cool

So, when his best friend finds out

You say sorry

Because he was the one you wanted

So, I keep my legs spread like a cancer

Stage 4

I should be so lucky to turn heads

Not everyone gets this kind of attention

This Johns Hopkins level of care

Well, I’m open for business

You all made sure of that

The revolving door keeps spinning

While I’m trying to pull it shut

Why doesn’t anyone want to stay?

***

Lizzie Case

Lizzie Case writes poetry, memoir, and fiction that explores intimacy, desire, and selfhood. She works in tech and lives in Brooklyn, NY. This is her first publication.