Poetry, A.C. Cambers
Cried all Christmas when you didn’t call.
Returned your presents.
Got drunk on expired eggnog.
Kissed my reflection on New Year’s Eve.
Flew to Florida, thoughts of you haunting me the whole week.
Got sunburnt watching pelicans glide across the sky.
Returned home, all my manuscripts were rejected simultaneously.
Tried to write through raging insecurity.
Adopted a cat, he purrs louder than you snoring.
Wrote an ode to the universe.
Deleted immediately.
Took a job teaching theatre to oversexed teens.
Purged your number—every text, link, meme you sent.
My therapist calls this progress.
A.C. Cambers is a theatremaker living in the Midwest, where she can often be found rage baking or typing away on her computer. Her poetry has appeared in Dream of Rust and Glass, Last Leaves, and Defenestration. Find her at https://happyprettysweet.substack.com/
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