the club and the kitchen | short poem
♪: window by sundots
the bass is too loud.
it rattles my chest like a trapped moth,
wings beating against bone.
someone shoves past me,
and the drink in my hand
sloshes sticky down my wrist.
i laugh because it’s easier than
screaming.
your kitchen at 1am, the kettle whining.
you stirring honey into my tea with
the wrong end of the spoon.
laughing when i pointed it out.
saying, "doesn’t matter. still sweet.”
the girl next to me grabs my hand,
twirls me like a ragdoll.
her nails dig crescents into my fingers.
her smile flashes sharp, hungry.
you kissed the inside of my wrist once.
said you could feel my heart
beating there.
said it made you feel real.
i wonder if you still look for
proof like that.
the strobe lights glitch —
white, red, blue, blackout.
for a second, nobody has a face.
just bodies.
mouths.
fists of heat.
we move like static crawling across
a dead television screen.
you once laughed so hard
you spilled tea across my skirt.
you tried to blot it with your hoodie sleeve.
said, “now you smell like me.
sorry. you’re stuck.”
i didn’t mind being stuck.
i could have stayed stuck forever.
someone presses up behind me.
hands too rough. too sure.
i step away. i step back. i step forward.
i never know which direction is safer now.
you never grabbed.
you always asked.
even when i didn’t answer,
you waited. patiently.
always patiently.
someone shoves a bottle against my mouth.
i tilt my head back.
i drink without asking what’s in it.
it tastes like forgetting.
it tastes nothing like you.
nothing ever does.
we sat on the fire escape that summer,
sharing a popsicle.
you told me you loved how i never
finished anything.
you said it made you feel needed.
i didn’t know then what it would cost
to always need you.
a fight breaks out near the bar.
a guy too drunk to stand gets
shoved to the ground.
someone kicks him hard in the ribs —
not in anger. just for the fun of it.
the crowd parts, laughing.
no one helps. not even me.
the music swallows it whole.
you once carried a half-conscious stranger
three blocks to their apartment.
said you couldn’t just leave someone like that.
said you’d want someone to carry you too,
if you ever fell.
the club smells like spilled beer,
hot plastic, and breath.
every song sounds the same
after a while.
a machine chewing the night into pulp.
you braided my hair once.
badly.
your fingers fumbling,
tongue poking out in concentration.
i kept it in all day anyway.
someone’s tongue finds my collarbone.
i shove him, hard enough to stumble.
he just laughs, like losing means nothing.
you used to trace galaxies on my back
with your fingertips,
naming them after inside jokes only we knew.
told me there were whole worlds in me.
i almost believed you.
i wanted to.
the lights spin like
coins tossed in the air.
the room follows,
dizzy and weightless.
my memories spin harder.
slower, crueler.
your ceiling fan rattling at 3am,
throwing shadows across your bare chest.
your voice thick with sleep
when you asked,
“will you stay even if i lose everything?”
i said yes.
i meant it. i still do.
someone’s hand on my hip.
someone else’s breath on my ear.
i wonder how many people it takes
to fill the hole you left.
i wonder if i even have a body anymore,
or just a shape waiting to be filled too.
you used to say i had a way of
lighting up a room.
i think you were lying.
i think you meant you liked
watching me burn.
the song changes.
the crowd surges.
i smile like it doesn’t hurt.
like i don’t taste your name in my mouth
every time i swallow.
someone shouts my name.
except it’s not my name anymore.
not the way you used to say it.
not the way it used to mean something.
you once said “i love you”
in the middle of a sentence,
like it slipped out by accident.
i didn’t say it back. i don’t know why.
i just smiled,
and kept talking about my coffee.
i dance harder.
i pretend i’m moving forward.
i pretend i’m not still standing in your kitchen
with sticky hands, laughing,
watching you stir honey into my tea.