I figured out what happens when you open the GISH list. You go through the grief process.
1) Denial: Dear God, there’s no fucking way.
2) Anger: WTF Misha??
3) Depression: I’ll let my team mates down, I’ll let Misha down, I’ll let me down.
4) Acceptance: What the hell, lets do this shit and not give a flying fuck to dignity or what anyone thinks about it.
me before the gishwhes list is posted:
me after the gishwhes list is posted:
as a kind of currency, we’d tug
our camisoles low, use
our newfangled bodies to haggle
with the ice cream man. The winner
was the girl who received her chocolate cone
for free, who sucked on candy cigarettes
the same way she wore a training bra.
That summer my pockets grew forests
of hand-tied maraschino cherry stems:
tampered evidence that I might one day be worthy
of kissing. In exchange for rides
on the handlebars of their bikes,
we’d let the boys bite
the beads off our candy
necklaces until the chokers
resembled punched out teeth.
From their slobber, blue and violet
stained my throat where the sweetness
had once been, so I suppose,
Your Honor, I was preparing