Summer, 2009
that summer tastes like too many shots of
fireball whiskey and lipsmackers vanilla
swirl chapstick. we hold hands as she takes
me across the crowded living room
and doesn’t let go as she molds her own
body against a boy who smells of
weed and insecurity. the next week she
overdoses on sleeping pills and i don’t
ask why she did it. i don’t tell her that
i’ve never felt more alive than when
i’m with her. i am a marionette that
summer- wrists tied with strings
and she clings onto them, puppets
me around until i don’t know where
my own skin begins. until there is no
limb she hasn’t manipulated. ‘here.
make me dance. i will do it even
after you cut me loose.’
Kelsey Krempasky is a Canadian poet currently attending the University of Manitoba. Her poetry has been published in The Manitoban, The Rising Phoenix Review, Royal Rose Mag and Venus Mag. When she isn't writing, she is probably singing Fall Out Boy with her dog. You can find her on twitter and Instagram @kelseyyb21
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