I'm Regina Small. I'm a writer and editor in NYC. I have a lot of opinions.
Interests include: sci-fi/fantasy, literature, summertime daydrinking, trying to be a better person, fancy manicures, philosophy, pictures for sad children, and the role of irony in the modern world. And fandom, of course.
I have another blog dedicated exclusively to science fiction/fantasy. Read it here.
A poem in which I don’t compare
you to anything.
In which you are not an
elevator that I got stuck on,
or a train that never left,
but no more than a person.
No less than a person.
Today, you are not a mistake
or a rip in my tights or a lesson.
Today, I take myself home and undo,
I take myself home and
write a poem about my skin
for the third time in a row and
then wash myself in it until
I’m clean and new.
A poem for the first full month
that didn’t hear the ache
of your name,
and for every month after.
A poem in which I am singular.
A poem in which I am more than
the people who never wanted me,
and I know this.