Portrait of Self as a Fly

Fly hits window


Hit window again


my mind to the sound of white noise

Like the static of the large 90s television

I’d fall asleep to waiting for my dad to

get home from work.  

Fly lands on the banana peel on my nightstand

Craving my midnight craving.

Fly likes her fruits a little rotten,

Passionately tasting the browned peel with her proboscis.

I go on a lot of dates with strangers

and sometimes

Rotten fruits smell sweeter

And sometimes

Rotten fruits have a deceivingly adorable

profile picture

with a kitten in a Christmas sweater

*swipe right.


I’m not naïve;

I can smell bull-shit from a mile away,

But I still end up submerged in it.

Old habits die hard.

Fly has her heart broken and deletes her tinder app,

But keeps her account.

Fly hangs around depraved and dangerous crowds

And feeds on the attention she gets from spiders

With stale personalities;

Their cravings make her feel wanted, desired, worthy.

My mom says I’m wasting my life on things

That don’t matter

And people

That don’t matter.

But Fly remembers you only live one

Week, better make it count.

I look at my bruises and wonder if I’m

past my prime at 16.

I am a regular solicitor of dejected soliloquies on

My twitter feed.

I’m bitter.

Fly hits window,


Hits window again,



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