
1 minute read
HEELS PANCAKES a poem
from Reinvention Issue
by STITCH
high heels, blazer, angled bob nally wearing lipstick! sweats, dirty hair in a bun seven assignments on canvas. freezing winters, so i pull o my jacket, but the hole in my sleeve reminds me of my mom and i’m supposed to be an adult but i'm stuck with the heart of a child, and i’m supposed to balance in high heels i’ve never worn while impressing the world with my walk.
i tripped. expecting not to, i cried just like when i ipped over the handlebars, training wheels detached, my bottom lip bleeding and swelling and now my lipstick doesn’t look good. oh but it’s the quarter system so you can’t stop.
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i’ve tried and i can’t make perfect pancakes. adding the boxed mix to the bowl rst, with a splash of milk, but no! too much milk and now the batter is too liquidy and the determined child-sized heart standing on a foldable green chair to reach the countertop, adds our and they are too clumpy so more milk!
i add more our i add more milk i add more of my heart i add more our i add more expectation i add more milk i add more failures i add more our i add more pressure i add more weight on my pillow i add more our i add more alarms to my phone i add more milk i add more milk now i have too much batter and no stove. wait but im in college i wear lipstick, i have heels i can reach the countertop. but i don’t like perfect pancakes, there is a subtle peace in the misshapen circles from where i began.







