WE ARE DIFFERENT ON A MICROCOSMIC LEVEL

      My boyfriend didn’t mean to break-up with me,

it was his gut that started talking.

      I clench my fists against the bed and

throw away his bathroom presence.

      The time it takes me to get my vibrator

on is the same time it will take me to cry.

      In my dreams, I throw

tuna cans and coffee at his eyes.

      By accident, I sleep against his unused

condoms.

      I bottle it up, until we both trickle down

into the soup of playlists, his hand

      squeezing mine in the back of a car.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he were to

      stroke my breasts right now.

I am pressed into my spine by his dead hands, 

      feeling too much fat

as I lay half-awake on the pavement.

      Change my opinion, my pain into

something less spastic than the dust

      of our inside jokes about parked cars.

I am throwing up again and again

      without anything visible to prove

I had someone inside of me.

---

Hanna Pachman is a poet, whose work has been published by Rattle, The MacGuffin, Catamaran, Maudlin House, and others. She hosts and curates a poetry event which has been running since 2018. Hanna was an Assistant Editor for the poetry magazine, Gyroscope Review for two years. She has performed poetry at many established places including the KGB Bar, the Poetry Circus, and Rockwood Music Hall. She is currently attending UCR for an MFA in Creative Writing. Website: www.HannaPatricePachman.com Social Media: @HannaPachman for X or @caffeinatedcat for IG