Therese Askarbek ’24
For the Unseen It’s not you. Trust me when I say . . . It really isn’t you. It’s hard to believe, Because you look at her and think I know three things to be true: 1. She has a thigh gap 2. He likes her 3. He doesn’t like me Coincidence? I think not. If only you had her nose and her cheeks, But not that a**, of course. If only you had controlled yourself then, You stupid girl. You were too forward, weren’t you? You didn’t giggle enough. You didn’t kneel on both knees to the ground, Close enough to see the frayed edges of the carpet, Proffering your packaged and polished self To the altar of Man. You love that game, The one where you pluck the petals Off the daisy While guessing whether He loves me, Or He loves me not. To Him, you are the flower, He might pick the prettiest one While avoiding the thorny rose, Or He might want the one that smells like a summer’s day. But they all die just the same, don’t they? Wilting slowly amongst the others in the bunch. The Collection No longer connected: 13