i am sorry i thought you were a human-shaped vending machine
i am sorry i forgot to take my body with me to your party
i am sorry carnivorous plants eat animals because they feel alone
i am sorry i feel alone when we are body to body in a room
i am sorry i am not a nest you can live in
i am sorry we dry humped to folk music

i am sorry i made you fill a space that was never there
i am sorry we are two mirrors placed in front of another
i am sorry i am a band-aid and band-aids are not enough
i am sorry i thought you were a parenthesis
i am sorry i thought you were going to make me love you
i am sorry light on skin feels warmer when your arm is touching my arm and there’s a hard horizontal sun touching our arms and it doesn’t feel like we are even touching at all
i am sorry you can’t fit inside of me
i am sorry i can’t cut open my stomach skin and crawl into it
i can crawl into you if you want me to
i am sorry i want a little bit more than anyone else
i am sorry i know building walls is a way of pretending you are not here
i am sorry i can’t fast-forward my sadness
i am sorry i am a crack in the pavement
i am sorry i mistook your body for a flood and drowned in it
fingerprints mean everything you touch has always been touched before

that’s fucked up

andrea mena (21) lives in madrid with 2 broken cameras. she studies audiovisuals and is the co-founder of violette collective. she tweets @andreamensch.
Vagabond City Literary Journal

Founded in 2013, we are a literary journal dedicated to publishing outsider literature. We publish art, prose, reviews, and interviews from marginalized creators.