I am melting butter

in AP Statistics

draped over the desk

warm dripping out of leaky sleeves

as I slide puddley down the hallway my mother screams,

 “Finally, some fat inside you!”

someone needs to pour out my sneakers

The sun went missing today.

There were no rivers of blood or plagues of locusts,

first-born children did not fall ill, nor did frogs descend on the cities.

It was quiet. 

The black hole stood stagnant.

We could only watch and wait.

I wish I had trauma that I could spin into a story, 

a story that would grip your thoughts tighter than leather binding, 

Something I could rip to shreds, over-analyze in the margins, 

i’m floating on my back with 

sunscreen spread along my nose and 

water lapping against my shoulders. 

i should be focusing on

how the sun is warming me from the outside — in or