I’ve lost my notebook.
I’ve lost a poem.

It was a great one.
It was eleven pages long.

It was about my father saying he couldn’t hear me.
It was about the X I cut into the back of my hand.

It was about seeing yet another friend on heroin.
It was about that little boy kicking a bird to death.

It was about the four leaf clover someone sent me.
It was about the time I could not stop sleeping.

It was about mail anonymous hate letters.
It was about finding bruises all over my legs.

It was about the bartender who wouldn’t let me pay.
It was about trying to find the cool spot on the pillow.

It was about the lipstick I stole from a girl’s medicine cabinet.
It was about seeing my favorite poet shake when she gave a reading.

It was about the tape I ripped out of someone’s answering machine.
It was about the friend who banged on my door and I did not let her in.

It was about watching MTV after school and wondering
          if I’d look like that when I grew up.
It was about my mother lying on the kitchen floor
          and the dog licking her face.

It was about what happened when I forgot how much milk
          my boyfriend liked in his coffee.
It was about the time I read someone’s diary
          and ripped out the pages about me.

It was about going to the bus station and not knowing where I was going.
It was about coming in late for a movie and kissing through the credits.

It was about the car I could not drive.
It was about my party when no one came.

It was about the last time you touched me.
It was about the way you walked away.

It was the best thing I’d ever written.
It was everything I wanted to say.

I’ve lost my notebook.
I’ve lost a poem.

– Nicole Blackman

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