Driving through this town is like creeping through the halls of a haunted house with my skin tense and my lungs clenched, expecting the ghosts of boys, girls, and versions of me past to jump out at me around every corner. There’s the curb where I said goodbye to my best friend, the parking lot where me and the blue-eyed boy had sex, the high school where I lost a beating chunk of myself because I was too afraid to try my best, the church that failed to control my body but didn’t fail to leave scars, the Starbucks where my friends and I made prank calls to the blue-eyed boy after we graffitied his car. There’s the townhome where I gave him everything but my heart and the playground where his best friend gave me his and I shoved it right back. So far the only ghosts I’ve encountered are the ones I’ve carried with me in my bones ever since the day I left this sprawling, humid, bayoued city—hymen broken, heart intact, head full of stars, starting over, and regret.
Prompt from @amykaypoetry – Write a prose poem.