5 Poems | Šejla Srna


sadgirl
Salesclerk

i feel like i am fading away
everything irritates me
the sound of my space bar at 2 am
is my worst enemy right now
and the fact that this isn’t a poem
but i’m still making it look like one
is making me sick to my fucking stomach
i just drank a can of gingerale
and that’s not making my day any better either
because now i have heartburn
and i feel bloated on top of the fact
that for the past 8 months i’ve felt
like the ugliest and fattest person alive
while at the same time i have been convincing myself
that beauty is not what is deemed acceptable
by society, or whatever
no matter how many times i say it to other people
i’m never going to hear it
i don’t want to go to work tomorrow
even if it’s just 5 hours of being a polite cashier
i hate these stupid candles
they don’t even smell good

Vonnegut’s Asshole
they rub frantically at their bodies
sweating like animals
the fragrance of grease in the air
hair unwashed, but sleek
assholes shining from yesterday’s shit
convinced they are beautiful,
convinced they are special,
convinced they are the sons and daughters
of Hemingway and Oates
they think they’re classy;
clean shave and perfume,
covering the ghastly odor
of too much sleep
and too much time
wasted sitting at their desks with their
1 dollar notebooks and their 10 dollar pens
pretentious fucking teenagers
grasping at the chance to quote
a quote we’ve heard so many times
we don’t know who said it first

Pillow
I am content when you are sleepy
or asleep

I still believe in bulletproof bed covers, but
vengeful mothers aren’t as easy to fight off

Keep your head under your pillow,
say my name 3 times

I will keep you safe

Hungry
Today I ate 18 times,
and now I stare blankly
into my window
at the gut of my reflection –
I try to stand tall and proud
just like my mother taught me;
but looking now I see a girl
with shrunken clothes and
cowering shoulders,
eyes half empty and craving
just another bite.

Pig
Clutching bed sheets,
heartbeat deafening;
muffling the sounds of
the last train to Century Park –
whispers of my lover float
above my head,

and between my legs
Blood pumps unevenly,

flowing straight to the
fingertips;

leaving my hands numb,
lost, dead, flopping

over the sides of my bed
The creases in my belly

(disgusting pig gut)

mock my posture –
and the spots on my face
mock my shapeless body

But you still love me so,

only you

and my soul remains warm,
unchanged and untouched,
confused in this ugly corpse,

this filthy pile of fat and bones
growing and bulging like a cancer
I keep it safe, just for you –
you lovely, blind fool
I promise;

when are skin meets once more,
palm against palm,

I’ll be beautiful again

—–

Šejla Srna is a 20 year old from Edmonton, Alberta. She writes on tumblr.

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Rachel Charlene Lewis

Rachel Charlene Lewis is a writer, editor, and designer.

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