there is a bruise on my ass shaped like a gun.
I cover it with my palm and find that it is hand-sized.
I take a picture of it and send it to my two best friends.
I text my mom and say, “it’s a metaphor.”
I stare and stare.
I put my hand against my ass and shoot.
I wonder what it means to be lethal.
you said, “I’m sorry for how I am.”
but I am a gun.
I am cocked, smoking, aimed at something worth killing,
or at least, worth shooting.
I sway my hips from side to side and
I remember the taste of you, yes,
but I am relearning the taste of me.
metallic, sugary, hot.
I am a gun.


Chloe Bell is a non-fiction writer, hostess, and email marketing manager living and working in Pittsburgh, PA. Her creative work centers on notions of self and relationships while her analytical work is largely eco-critical. Follow her on twitter: @chl0e_christina


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