Look at the clouds in the sky featuring
me, me, me and my many mistakes.
I was the one who bought their lies online
in the form of too cool sweatshirts.
I was the one who thought lightning, the kind you see in het porn
full of its valley inhabitants, was the only spark.
I was the one who sent the idiotic email to the muse:
you are amazing because you are
or I am here waving, drowning
in the preordained dead sea of sex.
I was the one who married the two wrong men;
the one who bled on the published poet’s floor pillow.
I was the one gone, flipping over;
the seal in a sea of oil.
I was the one who spent a life’s work on worry.
I was the one who learned that evading authenticity
drains marrow from the bone.
Then I learned that the shiny black rock
in the center of the heart is meant
for a ring we can put on another finger.
I bought the plot of heterosexuality, bought it, bought it
bought it, and then closed the book.
Tenets of the school of heterosexual girls
1. it’s okay to drink the blood of men
2. you can eat boys
3. pain can be evaded
Rachel Tramonte lives in Cleveland, OH. Her work has appeared in Bluestem Magazine, Broad River Review, The Broken Plate, Carbon Culture Review, Common Ground Review, Door is a Jar, GNU Journal, Green Hills Literary Lantern, HitchLit Review, Hobart, Jelly Bucket, Slab, S/Word, These Fragile Lilacs and Third Wednesday. Her poem “Dead Letter Mail” has been nominated for the 2018 Sundress Best of the Net award. She received her MA in English and Creative Writing from Binghamton University. She lives and writes in Cleveland, OH with her partner and their two daughters.