You stink like the chicken coop in my neighbor’s yard, that’s why.
You are the cyano slime that clings to the bottom of a barge, that’s why.
A glass necklace. A green door. A child’s harmonica.
A book of poems sitting unopened on the floor—that’s why.
You’re one of those marauders cruising the sea for treasure.
You weak link, you fraud. You’re a cog, a lever, that’s why.
I couldn’t care less about your new chin piercing. What a stud.
Swallow your own rain. You’re just a hearse holding air, a dud. That’s why.
Red, bitter liquid poured from your heart when I ate you.
You tasted like lies drowned in tartar sauce from a drive-through, that’s why.
You loser, you letter. Go write yourself across the sky.
You play sick every hour & I’ve lost my mind again on the 405, that’s why.
I don’t want you to want what I want when I want it.
Dark-eyed guzzler, you’re a broken haunt. That’s why.
Hurry now, pull the dress up to your chin and zip it.
You wrapped your arms around my ribs and fixed it, that’s why.
I told you the truth, who cares? I left my eyes by your bedside.
Stroked my tongue until your drawers filled up with lies, that’s why.
Like you even noticed, marble-heart. You maiden, you saint.
Give me a coin for my slot. Nothing taken, nothing gained—that’s why.
Candace Rex lives and works in Seattle, WA. Rex is a writer, musician and social justice advocate. Currently an MFA student at Antioch University in LA, her work is forthcoming.