The Way I Am
Sona Lea Dombourian
My mother always says it was my father’s fault I couldn’t get along with anyone.
My mother always says it was my father’s fault I couldn’t get along with anyone.
Jilly says the 21-year-old is weirdly similar to me, specifically because she’s in her early 20s and has a dead dad.
MSN Messenger was the absolute dive of the internet in 2002
I also have a white t-shirt I like a lot that says JOHN PRINE IS PRETTY GOOD, but I don't actually wear it because it comes down to my knees.
It wasn’t nice to call her eyes empty, Sondy supposed. Guileless, most people would say. Furtive, is probably what they’d call Sondy’s eyes.
Your Uber arrives and now you remember you’re not wearing any underwear.
I go into parties wearing a long-sleeve t-shirt that says Bonjour on the front and Au
Revoir on the back, eating candy cigarettes.
That comment got 55 upvotes. I downvoted it. I don’t have friends anymore
I get in bed, move my mouth over her nipple.
“Do you mind if I moan?” she says.
I tell her this is all I’m getting, because this is all I deserve.
Getting chemical poisoning together seemed romantic, the closest you could come to being entombed, Pompeii-style, in each other’s arms.
I wanted you to count on me—if not as a lover, then at least as an object for your using.
Normalcy has no moment to collapse because it is absent from the start.
Sometimes he’ll cum on my face, and I’ll have to hear about it in one of his poems.
This place looks haunted as shit.
You touch everything you see. You want everything you touch.
Uncle Dale says, “We’re lucky that none of us can fly.”
your uncle has a whiteboard on his wall and on it it says TO DO: TELL TERRY YOU LOVE HER. he wrote that you don’t know how many years ago. terry was his girlfriend but she’s dead now
I felt like a fool in the rain as I sat under the shower head.
Molly, in its three hundred and twelve pages, transcends time and space, life and death.