My first book is coming out and it’s excruciating. I still love all the poems I wrote but sometimes I feel like the optimistic, size-eight woman who wrote them slipped away during my fifteenth (fiftieth) quarantine negroni.
She crawled under the couch that day I bought a jumbo bag of Smartfood and ate the whole thing in one sitting. And then recorded it in my LoseIt app as 1/4 cup -no butter. Or the time I recorded it as two thousand calories and YOLO’d off to open a beer too.
I miss her but at least I’ll have the book she wrote. And someday, someday I swear, I will wear her clothes again too.
