
In high school you deserted me
in the passenger seat of the stick shift Ford Ranger.
An empty lunch box
and unbraided hair.
You took the bathroom scale away
but just down the hall, to your room.
You left me
crying
and you left me
a thousand times
emotionally
at the dinner table,
in the car,
on the sidewalk outside the high school gymnasium.
My stomach hurts,
and it’s 12:31am.
And this is exactly what it feels like
in my body
to need you.