by Hannah Cohen

It's #tbt! Enjoy this great one from SWWIM Every Day's archives!

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by Hannah Cohen

Anyway, did you know that I wear

            bad luck like wet shoes?

                        Can you believe it’s been four years since my last

date? I’m cleaned out when it comes to mood:

            eager, enthusiastic, excited.

                        Fuck it. Actual texts I get from

guys:

            hi or

                        jk or

lol—I digress. I am

            making things even more difficult. God, I’m really

                        never gonna get laid again.

Okay, okay, I’m being a little dramatic. I should be on meds,

            probably, but I’m too self-conscious to ask my therapist 

                        questions, and tell him how

reality outside his room with the blue carpet and wood paneling

            sucks.

                        Truly terrible. Apologies in advance for the ongoing mutiny in my head, one

usurper of good intentions after another, but hey,

            vicious cycles have to end at some point. You know I’m done for

                        when I love men the way I failed algebra. Find

x, solve for why.

             Yearning for the exact inexactness of my design,

                        zodiac signs, the numbers, the what-else out there.

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Hannah Cohen lives in Virginia. She is the author of the poetry chapbook, Bad Anatomy (Glass Poetry Press, 2018). She's the co-editor of Cotton Xenomorph. Recent and forthcoming publications include Cosmonauts Avenue, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Yes Poetry, Gravel, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and elsewhere.