By Sophia Black

sitting on sticky turf 

it’s green, too green, green like the fluorescent dye 

that you squeeze into little-kid cupcake frosting 

occasionally i pull up a strand and twist it between my fingers it reminds me of plasticky doll hair 

the kind you would braid with difficulty, hunched over on your bedroom floor i haven’t had a doll in a long time now 

they started to scare me, after a while 

if i’m being honest everything starts to scare me after a while earlier today the gravel smelled like rain 

i love rain 

my hair is all around my face right now 

it used to be longer but i couldn’t stand it 

not how it looked but how it felt– 

too much too much too much 

like you can feel every strand on you all of the time 

like parasites 

like parasites on your hands on your face in your eyeliner (that’s why i don’t wear eyeliner anymore 

(or use earbuds)) 

it’s like snakes, you know 

even the plasticky turf feels like that sometimes 

strangling and everywhere and everywhere 

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow 

againandagainandagain

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