annora croon
Smoke Stains
I just want to get high in the evening
and touch myself.
My mother lingers outside my door
There’s a question on her lips– Is this the life I’m living?
Don’t I know there’s more than this?
Loud music, bad economy, cigarettes that stain my teeth
self destruction, my rebellion, I turn the rage internal.
The adult store calls to me like a new tattoo.
But so do my bill collectors on the phone my daddy pays for.
Late adolescence is still adolescence: I just hope my tits don’t grow in again.
Wash my dirty hair,
pretend this life is more than a temper tantrum.
They want me to join the rat race but the head rat wants my head on a platter.
And I’m not inclined to let that happen.
These days are numbered and I’ve been counting them down since I was born.
Just pray that when I’m gone they don’t notice the smoke stains.
Annora Croon (she/he) is a pearl-diver, historian and poet from the Deep South of the United States. He writes about love and other nasty things. In her spare time, she teaches middle school. You can find his writing on Substack @annoracroon or on Tumblr @the-fourth-sex.