A WHITE ROOM WITH A WOOD FLOOR                

everybody leaves me
such booming emptiness
I type haha
staring out beyond a Dunkin’ Donuts  
sky turning tangerine 
people say orange is the hardest color
sometimes it just wears you
on this bus nobody knows me
I am horrible 
asking too much of others   
being absent like that
my mom wants me to be bipolar
cries when she talks about herself
how loving
a couch is a sort of mother
holding me up
I bought mine when I worked
being underpaid by rich women
I was so jealous
they just threw their Kelly bags  
wherever
I have been a bad person
nobody taught me  
not to rage at the world
I binge watch five episodes
clutching the idea of rattan
lampshades on plaster lamps
I actually learned from my job
texture can make a room
look more expensive
my eyes are naked
feel like dying but the sun is out
I don’t know why
all the pigeons gathered
at the dead end of the neighborhood
I thought it was pretty great
they had each other

BEFORE I REACH THE MARKET

I am underneath it
a white linen two-piece I won’t buy
just need to love something
in the B-roll of the world
red wire black wire
crossing my legs at the ankles
I never had an accountant
not the emotion but the proximity to it
makes me hungry
one mirror reflected in another
an infinite loop
lying naked in a towel in bed
your text arriving
like everything green

IN MY ADULT LEISURE

sometimes I sit
& my crotch just sweats & sweats
it’s not so terrible
being alive
I saw a daffodil yesterday
between a length of green
chain link
& it reminded me of home
such grotesque beauty writhing
from condition to condition
I live alone now
the sky as big as I’ve made it
hard to understand
why I would keep this to myself
because I do like when everybody rides the bus together
& we are trapped in our humanity
which is too massive to carry
I’ve written atop
more surfaces than I’ve fucked on
& that seems a great disservice
to my poetry or this youth I have
gravitational forces playing on my ass
right now
somebody feels so totally indifferent toward me
& I’m not proud
to say it hurts a little
more than it should
I’m always trying to describe
the quality of my experience

Abigail Stallings is currently pursuing her MFA at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst