weight of a waitress

iris incision, thigh and breast butcher


look down because you know its wrong


stomach churning

burning for her age eighteen to be turning

yearning, he’s a selfish soul

she’s still learning, earning money to pay for driving lessons


but he calls her up in college to fill tender ears with harrowing confessions


she’s missing




creative writing

pushed aside,

she saw the councillor and lied about what was eating away at her voice


she cried for long nights on end, trying to pretend she could handle

this mangled soul who strangled the idea of intimacy.


‘he’s older, so he should know better than me’


she thought


he bought her gifts and cigarettes

but never split the tips that she’d earnt

whilst compromising what she’d learnt at college

knowledge washed away as she wept

kept upright by cocodamol, washed down after she slept.


the city four years later still sends shivers down lone spines


edging round shopping centers and glancing around too many times.


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