Eight of Cups (Reversed)

Poor Me
by Anastasia Jill

The food in this house is nasty, spoiled Save-A-Lot meat.
I don’t like maggots. I want McDonalds, burgers and fries.

In this house, health is a six-letter word,
privilege in a cup holding my urine because
I’m not pregnant is more words. The myth of projects.
Girls like me are always pregnant, full of nothing
but semen and drugs and fast-foodie ties.

My doctor went to Brown, studied stem cells in rats,
says rats like me have hips made for babies.
Rats like me are perpetually fat, but my pelt is buttercream,
unlovely; even hungry mouths will starve before cutting a piece.

There is luck in the homely – rock bottom isn’t life.
It will be a ticket out but in the meantime, I wait, terminal.

I sit with sweaty bodies and eat,
wrapping myself in grease and cheesy papers until
I emerge from the trash cocoon, hoping to be a proper woman.

Anastasia Jill (she/her) is a queer writer living in the Southeast United States. She has been nominated for Best of the Net and Best Small Fiction Anthology, as well as several other honours. Her work has been featured with Poets.org, Lunch Ticket, apt, Minola Review, Gertrude Press, Into the Void and more.