she is seventeen. An art gallery
opens. Boots unlaced. Lips painted
black. She closes her eyes, but all she hears
is the hum of her brain’s stubborn engine.
A rusted socket. Lately, she has to shuffle
the words around in her head before she
speaks. A deck of sticky playing cards.
She decides her body betrayed her. That her
reflection now hangs thick, like old honey.
After the grey strands of hair stopped paying
rent. Started conspiring with the skin under
her neck. After the five children crawled out of her.
Their greedy fists. They’re wailing shrill, like axes.
Chelsea Coreen is a full-time sparkle enthusiast. She was a member of the SUNY Oneonta poetry slam team and competed at the national College Union Poetry Slam Invitational for three consecutive years. She has been published in Art and Scope as well as Selfies in Ink, and recently released her first chapbook Glitter Bomb in March of 2014. Follow her on Twitter @chelseacoreen