you have deleted the photos of him with me
the ones at the wedding,
when i wore a dress that took me two weeks to decide on
the wedding that left me locked in a bathroom crying
before getting drunk and forgetting
and smoking a cigar on the corner with the homeless man
in a city i would call my own
the night before i left to college
with my hair short blonde,
the best haircut i have had in my life
it was the night i stayed up past sleeplessness
fleeting from lover to lover
the hours before anxiety set in,
a terrible rash across my body you couldn't see then,
but under my skin, in those photos you deleted
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