I don’t care, she wrote
I assume she, but it could have been anyone. I don’t care,
she wrote, scratched into the efficient,
black metal, worn with fingerprints
smudged with angst, matted
in heartbreak.
I don’t care – I didn’t do it. I could
see her fingers curled tight around
a hair clip, a nail file,
her rage and unconcern visibly etched
on the stall, in her grimace. Thin line
of lips pressed against the words spat
in math class behind the full flicker
of another video tutorial. I
don’t care – I didn’t do it and UR a
bitch ass liar.
Her eyes fill with water again, red
burns her face and neck and ears. She
drops her hand, he wasn’t supposed to
share those pictures with anyone,
swore he hadn’t. But she didn’t care.
Daughter of Discord 