day 15

In her head, she's in gym class, middle school.
White shirt, name written in a box on the front,
pulling at the bottom and sending telepathic
brain waves to the coach to stop the game, send
her to the office, bench her.

But instead, coach pulls a bag from the gym closet,
dumps out 20 dodgeballs. The rubber smells.
She tugs harder, scooting further to the back,
making herself small. She's afraid and unathletic--
the perfect combination to not be picked for teams.

Then, she's abroad in college. And instead
unathletic and afraid, she's drunk and mad.
Chainsmoking outside a bar named after a bridge
in another European country but with a punny twist.
It irritates her. The girl he picked instead, some yoga chick
who tried to fill in her brows last week and went too dark,
comes out to apologize for any pain, to say she's hurt
too and that he's a horrible person with PTSD who needs help.

Tomorrow, she'll be here and wondering why
everyone stops talking to her and what it is about her
that makes people choose someone else.
Wondering when she'll love herself enough to fix it all.