four white plastic limbs like legs of crackhouse lawn chairs
six stripes of stretch mark mildew (or are they bruises?)
the one ghost girl on the inside, rattling her chains

weaving awake in 11:50 a.m. college classes
calorie calculations scribbled in notebook margins
and one professor’s kind blonde face; I fade out again

numbers don’t lie, even if I do
come to saying yes, I ate lunch, phone cold against my cheek
sucking the sugar out of a pack of spearmint gum (fourteen pieces)
it’s nice; the world slows down when I speed up
my thoughts riding the freeway, jostling for space
but the air still so cool so dull

I would like to be happy
I would like to be skinny
I would like to be empty
I need to be full
I like facts and numbers but
maybe it’s not time to die for them
and maybe this time I will choose a pair of bigger jeans
over another perfectly balanced equation