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Lindsay Hunter

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We are at, like, a dance. We are like wearing these new, like, tops. We put lipstick all around our mouths. We feel jealous of each other’s mouths but, like, that isn’t cool, so we keep it to ourselves. We don’t want to dance with anything chubby because it’s like dancing with our stepdads, or dancing with, like, some like weird baby grizzly boy. We are like, yuck. We want to dance with, like, anything that plays football, or, like, golfs. Anything that, like, might play the, like, savior in a movie or like a TV show. Or like the killer. We wouldn’t, like, mind being, like, bladed. Some of us don’t have titties, but like some of us do and it is hard to be, like, happy about it. The other day we, like, felt each other’s chests in the locker room. Like some of us got called ant bite and, like, some of us got called pudding piles. Some of us agreed that, like, pudding piles are just fat, just floppy mounds of, like, gross fat and it’s like just do some push-ups. But then later we all were, like, thinking how it’d be okay to have some fat because then, like, your  top would look better, and like maybe the quarterback would, like, ask you to get in his car. Some of us felt more than, like, each other’s chests in the locker room but, like, whatever, it’s the locker room. Some of us get all, like, burned up in the locker room. We like, like, watching. Like, thinking about how being in some guy’s car could happen at any time and, like, a lot of the time it happens in the locker room. Some of us have, like, been in that car. Some of us like have, like, bite marks and we love how they’re like rainbows, like, purple green yellow gone. Some of us bite ourselves because, like, whatever. At this dance we pretend there are, like, arrows pointing out each, like, ant bite or pudding pile right at, like, the savory boys. This, like, helps with our posture and like also it’s like, You, come. We’re, like, always imagining what, like, the best night would be, and it’s like someone took a poker and stirred up our, like, embers and like whoosh, we’re all of us like our own flame. It’s like, You, come, and like, bring that poker. We can, like, taste it. Some of us are like thinking bratwurst, like how our stepdads cook sometimes, all cooked and, like, firm and ready to, like, be eaten. And, like, the juices. Some of us know better because, like, we’ve been in that car. Like there’s no, like, platter, there’s no, like, small bites. There’s no, like, stopping when you get full. We’re, like, at this dance and some of us keep going to the bathroom to, like, sip out of this bottle of, like, iced tea but, like, it’s only half iced tea and, like, the other half is rum. We, like, throw our heads back to get it down. Our throats are, like, jagged and it’s like, who needs a poker? We, like, take our shoes off and, like, slouch in the bathroom and it’s, like, what a relief and, like, we all see each other like the way we are in the locker room and it’s like we’re just girls and, like, we hate each other for our hair and legs and titties and mouths and, like, even, like, wrists, but, like, we would never say that to each other because, like, that’s not how you, like, treat a friend. And, like, we’ll be friends forever so, like, we, like, hate each other until our hate, like, turns into, like, love. Some of us have dreams that, like, we’re carrying the others of us on, like, our shoulders because, like, the others of us are, like, dead, and, like, foom we drop the bodies, like, into this big fire and, like, there goes the hair there goes the eyelashes there goes the, like, perfect Disney princess wrists but, like, I’m sure the others of us have, like, the same dream because, like, they want to watch, like, our ankles and tans and, like, our thighs burn until we’re just, like, meat, so it’s, like, we get each other. We put our shoes back on and, like, point the arrows out again and, like, we’re back in the gym, waiting and, like, we get pulled onto the dance floor and we, like, put our hands on our boys’ necks and, like, some of us swirl our nails in our boys’ hair and, like, some of us are rewarded with, like, little denim or khaki animals, like, little, like, sea monkeys we made grow with, like, barely any work on our part. We, like, pretend we don’t, like, know our, like, hips are swiveling or, like, some of us are short so, like, we have to, like, really work our abs, and, like, our boys hold us tight and we smell their, like, deodorant and cologne and, like, sweat and, like, their essence under it all, which is like garlic and like dirt. And, like, our boys probably think they are doing it to us too, like we’re, like, buckling and folding and, like, melting, but, like, that is like pretending that, like, the stars in the sky are just the pearl buttons on our tops and skirts and just, like, unfasten and zoom the, like, heat of the universe of our, like, necks and titties and, like, the parts we spritz and oil the most is our boys’ to, like, have. Like we’re, like, theirs. 

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But, like, it’s us, we lie on our backs to watch the sky pearl to star, we are skin to bite we are hair to flick we are swish we have the power, it’s us, we say what we want we say Come and we say Here and we say Burn and we say Like.

All rights reserved to Lindsay Hunter.

Illustrations by Allegra Lockstadt.

Step Into the Fishbowl and Watch For the Cracks

Step Into the Fishbowl and Watch For the Cracks

Hunter's Hands

Hunter's Hands