I am not the lost and found at your gym. Do not leave your bruises behind in here. I am do not enter.
This dress I’m wearing is made entirely of caution tape to keep visitors from tripping over the unforgivably holy mess of me.
I am gushing nose bleeds, the color of skin going back to normal after the bar fight. I am the music between kneecap clashes, the way the word brawl sounds when it’s pronounced wrong.
I’m counting down to the moment you stop looking at me like I’m going back wreckage. I came in bombshell casing. I am already here and on a hot streak.
I am not aftermath, but clouds are gathering. The wind is picking up.