now more than ever i’m listening to kelly clarkson breakup songs and re-downloading every dating app possible. the summer has a way of making you put on a skin-tight bodycon dress, knock back three aperol spritzes, and be ready to fuck anyone who uses your first name in a sentence. but to fully begin my slut era renaissance, i need to let go of the most recent man who broke my heart—which has proven difficult considering we’re still besties with an emergency contact vibe.
i don’t know what it is about me, but i’ve always found myself in two types of relationships: ones that end explosively and ones that don’t seem to end at all until one of us (usually them) starts dating someone else and i’m left tweeting cryptic alanis morisette lyrics into the night. right now i’m dealing with the latter which can only mean one thing: a spike in creativity and a dip in common sense. i can’t tell if any of the people i’ve gone on dates with recently are actually my type of if i’m just experiencing the dangerous combination of recently single and ovulating. either way, here’s to having a slut ghoul summer and writing sad poems through the heat of it all.
homesick in manhattan
i'm eating pomme frites in the lower east side
wishing i was at a TGI fridays instead
thirty is the age of putting on a crew neck sweater
and pretending you're someone else
but i keep dripping olive oil down my shirt
so what is even the point?
everyone at my alcohol birthday is on Raya
and i'm sexting under the table
with an IT guy from West Mifflin
my friends tell me to move back to the city
but i already miss shitty corner pubs
and my sister's crooked teeth.
smog daughter
remember when i kissed you in the alley
after we broke up in my car
and you made me promise
not to romanticize it on twitter
you were staying on the street
where i asked someone to spit on me
when i told you how i like that
you pretended not to hear
how dare you think fondly on this city
but resent the filthy girl it raised
i tried so hard to be pure for you
but i can't breathe without smoke in my face.
rebound
i'm walking to the cemetery
for a first date i rescheduled nine times
listening to a love song about the moon
and resisting the urge to send you the spotify link
you'll respond with an emoji and i'll feel dumb
in the springtime i said things were over for good
but the solstice has passed and i haven't stopped calling
we both know what it will take for you to stop picking up
but i don't have a condom
and the graveyard grass pricks my thighs.
-rachel elizabeth