I Made My Bed


Room Magazine - - MCCULLOUGH -

by tuck­ing in the cor­ners. But the sheets weren’t tight enough. You could never bounce a quar­ter off it and catch it in your fist.

I made my body by tuck­ing in the waist, hunch­ing into my breasts to make them smaller, stand­ing side­ways in photos. Don’t show the teeth (too big, cover all laughs with hand). I wouldn’t eat corn be­cause it left it­self be­hind, stuck in crevices. I didn’t want to be a per­fect girl—I didn’t want to be a girl at all. I wanted the kind of shad­owy pres­ence that po­ets have, the glid­ing-along-a-side­walk that makes peo­ple—men and women—for­get them­selves for a mo­ment.

I could never get high enough grades, never have enough lovers, love enough, never makeany­thingex­act­lyper­fect, not the way that a dream is:

how it floats up, three-di­men­sional, in­fin­itely bal­anced and can go in any di­rec­tion. Re­ally, there was no time for sleep.

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