shame keeps me warm at night
burns bright in my bones
burnished to a glow by
wincing ruminations about you
gutted with the loss of
what could have been
grateful the door never
opened wider
to let in more welted regret
livid on my skin
hurricaned with wounds that
last forever
what if we had slept together?
what if you had kissed me?
would I be lassoed to you with
even sharper strains, hooked into
every crook of elbow, knee, and jaw
calling out the ache I can’t keep quiet
would my loudness be a lesson in leaving
me alone? a siren destroyer
you should avoid
at all costs
I would wreck your ship to splinters
and watch you drown
Erin Bryant Petty (she/her) is an artist and writer living in Michigan. She writes down words while she sleeps and turns them into poems. When she’s not making things she prefers to be in the woods, finding mushrooms. Find her on twitter @ebryantpetty.