Things That I Shouldn’t Empathize With
Roadkill,
Deformed fruit,
The ticks I pry off of the dog and flush down the sink.
Icarus,
The stuffed elephant I still sleep with, when I wake and it’s lying like a rotten leaf on the floor beside my bed.
The curls my grandmother had, when I suffocate them with hot iron like criminals in the morning, like they’ve done something wrong.
Dandelions losing their yellow, even though I know they are born to die.
Parasites.
Crushed insects lining windowpanes,
Rapists.
Spoiled food in the back of the fridge,
Women with waxed bodies.
Matches that attract moths, moreso just those victim to blame in general,
The fact that they aren’t victims at all, the dreams they must have at night.
You, and how it must feel to carry around the things you’ve done.
To wake with a throbbing head, to peel from a half-made bed, and to walk into the bathroom
to look into eyes that are your own.
