COUNTING CROWS | Olivia Ladun

I like to call this counting crows.
A boy told me he liked me while I was high and crying listening to some indie bullshit.
My ex girlfriend smoked everyday, 3:11 pm, after school in her backyard, 
and I guess that is sort of cringeworthy.
Tell me you like me.
I like to call this counting crows.


And I wish I was pretty without make up, but I sold my soul and became demoralized.
My ex boyfriend split his wrist one day and blamed me, 
and I guess that is sort of cringeworthy.
Tell me you’re okay.
I like to call this counting crows.
And you really can’t call me pretty because once, I loved someone and they called me pretty, but now they say I’m not the same-
They said I’m glass, but I always thought I was marrow.
I like to call this counting crows.
And I keep throwing up water and candy and syllables, but you won’t like me once you reach the smell,
And I’ve been empty for a long time,
but eating and eating and eating has only made me nauseated.
There is a pit in my stomach filled with sand.
I like to call this counting crows.
And I didn’t expect to meet you here, but there you are smiling at me with top and bottom marbles that I’d love to play with someday.
And here I am rubbing my knees trying to stand up without looking as feeble as I feel-
I remember little things.
Princess Diana died on my birthday.
It takes one man to change a light bulb and a woman to light it.
What the fuck was the punchline?

—–

Olivia Ladun lives in Georgia, USA. She is queer, biracial, and seventeen years old, and she spends her time acting profounder than she really is.

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Vagabond City Literary Journal

Founded in 2013, we are a literary journal dedicated to publishing outsider literature. We publish art, poetry, and creative nonfiction from marginalized creators.

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