sometimes I eat lunch in the kitchen of a sunken ship and laugh at the skeletons surrounding me; golden cutlery once held in the hand of a cabaret singer, what color were her nails? you can tell a lot about a woman from the color of her nails. my nails are unpainted 167 days of the year. The other 198 days my nails display chipped polish, too stubborn to succumb to the rubbing alcohol I was too lazy to buy in the first place. run-on sentences. no rubbing alcohol. no toilet paper in the downstairs bathroom. no shampoo. a few granola bars and half a jar of peanut butter. Bed partially made (I gave up ⅖ the way in). wearing two socks is the new sexy. my hairbrush is a train that left the station on time and my hair is a naked man screaming about George Foreman in the middle of the tracks- my hair makes no fucking sense. I let my dog lick my face no matter how bad his breath smells. lay in bed until my shoulder hurts then lay on the couch until my legs are numb then lay back in bed until my other shoulder hurts. homework is the teen pregnancy I never wanted and the 9 months of uncomfortable sleep and the overpriced diapers and the child I haphazardly care for. stop signs are just suggestions. sometimes life is a yellow light and it’s hard to tell whether I should speed through or slow down.


Chloe Cook is an undergraduate student attending Northern Kentucky University. She works as a poetry editor for Loch Norse Magazine and speaks at community open mic nights. She enjoys funky socks, collecting CDs, and looking at cool tattoos.

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