Untitled
Chelsea Becker
#1
That’s the thing with an upward trajectory, you know it has to eventually take a turn. You should be able to pinpoint the shift but even cloaked in hindsight I can’t see it. There was us and then there wasn’t. Your new keys and a room temperature bottle of champagne. I told you if you took a sip while it overflowed and made a wish, it would come true. You asked me if I made one and I sheepishly said I made two. The first was for you to get naked and the second was for you to stay that way. I fear maybe I cursed my real one that day by making light of the act of wishing. I heard you have real furniture now, no more Chinease food on cold floors. That’s a shame, as it made you slightly more relatable in your shiny new castle. Secretly I guess I’m glad that I only got to see that side, plastic cutlery and orange sauce dripping from your lip. When it was empty it had never been more full, does that make sense? I wish it worked that way for people, as I am now as empty as can be.
#2
Both here to provide you with fleeting joy
Bright but already dead
Bodega flowers
A ring on a hand that’s touched others
The perfect shade of red on a mouth that grinds from constant anxiety and vices
An illusion
To everyone and no one
Bright and dead on every corner
Wrapped in pretty cellophane to distract you from the fact that I am already gone
At the very least I can bring joy to another
Even if just in passing
With hopes that maybe my seeds will spread and I will grow again
#3
white rabbit was playing on your shower speaker but all I could seem to focus on was the itch in my nose from the line of coffee grounds. a poor substitute, kind of like trading in love for lust.
#4
taking a gulp of orange juice after brushing my teeth
turning my waterpic to ten knowing that I will bleed
metaphors regarding my mouth come naturally, as that is where I picture you most often
beads of red slide down the porcelain and I worry that I have always preferred the pain to the pleasure
Chelsea originates from Missouri, but makes a home wherever she goes. The city that never sleeps holds her pulse steady, for now. She writes about love, addiction, and things that hitch your breath in the best and worst ways. She writes about past traumas so as to be able to work through them. She’s a master of public policy and also the archives of your favorite designer. She can recite game theory and poetry. She is a big advocate for canned mountain dews, snail mail, dark corners in shitty bars, and laughing at funerals.