5/21/2023 0 Comments Marlena by julie buntin![]() ![]() I learn the spreadsheets, the data, how to talk to publishers. I’m lonely, I eat avocado halves to stave off feeling. I’m unremarkable, New York City swallows me with ease. My body didn’t die and in fact, I didn’t either.Īt a certain point after your adolescence, you decide to choose to live, but that doesn’t mean living is fun or easy. I like to be reminded that despite everything, my body didn’t die. ![]() I like that I no longer notice when it cracks its vessels open and raises blood into its surface. I take a bath, soaking up the god-given hot water, and watch a mottled purple bruise begin to creep across my hip. ![]() I’m trying to rub away the pink indentations, each strap leaving behind a sinkhole of salty, dried sweat my calves, my wrists, my ankles. I’m thumbing the stripes where I’ve velcro-ed padding to my body. Kickboxing is less about learning to hit someone than learning to take a hit. ![]() Recently, I’ve been telling this joke about how I “leveled up in fight school,” as though it’s some dumb video game, but the truth is that sparring classes are hard. I’m home, back from the boxing gym, where the room’s heavy with moisture and the dull thud of meat against the bag. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |