We were post apocalyptic, poison ivy, black lipsticked and mascara stained. We outgrew
cut palm promises and pinky swears by high school. We lay on the budding chests of boys and tried to steal their clumsy breathing. We were virginal, declawed, pickpockets sharp as sewing needles. We hung posters of second wave punk above our twin-sized beds and seared their lyrics behind our blue-veined eyelids. We stroked ourselves between our legs beneath their paper gazes. I got hiccups at the concert. You went home with the band.
About the author:
Amber Rambharose is an Assistant Editor at YesYes Books and the Editor-in-Chief of Forthcoming Poets. Her poems have appeared in Burntdistrict, Thrush Poetry Journal, Whiskey Island Magazine, and elsewhere. Born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, she now reads, writes, and freelances in Philadelphia.