we made each other friendship bracelets out of rubber bands,
we skipped algebra to sit by that lake with the
“watch for alligators” sign.
i watched your
your whole being rise
shine when you were with
i also watched them
f a l l
would send you fear-inducing texts
that would have you running back home,
back to him
back to the lies
don’t you remember being happy?
don’t you remember us?
don’t you remember that time at the beach,
or in your truck bed,
your old jackets as blankets,
playing the how-close-can-we-get-without touching game?
you don’t remember?
i didn’t experience these things alone.
braiding your multi-colored hair
over and over again,
as an excuse to touch you
your purple lipstick,
how it got all over my white t-shirt,
and how I didn’t care at all
watching you light your cigarette,
being so mesmerized by you,
that I couldn’t speak from watching you do a simple
time in my bathtub,
slipping on the porcelain,
grasping for each other,
Alyssa Brocker is a twenty-year old college graduate. She found her love for poetry by working with her theater group to create an original play written in prose. She lives with her beloved dog who is always her first reader.