with me

with black, with white, with used to be white,

with few miles on carpet, with tumbleweeds of dust filled

brown hair, with a trim every six months. with pepto-bismol,

with grandpa’s stethoscope, with a bottle

of rumchata, with hazy memories of last night, with a full

face of make-up. with thirty-six ddd, with gender,

with romance, with sandalwood, with eponine in the rain.

with obsessive, with compulsive, with disorder.

frustration, stress, hope.

with acceptance, with freshly plucked

eyebrows, with forehead kisses. as fourth cousins,

as pisces, as killian jones. with sandy ankles,

with high-waisted jeans, with left leg falling asleep, with

insomnia. with thinking, with over-thinking,

with remembering, with small gold hoops on the first day of

school, with samantha the american girl doll, with toys

used when feeling lonely. with swiping left,

with a closed mouth smile, with two

different ears. with the same thirteen colonies,

with an inside porch, with the powerhouse of the cell, with

mitochondria. with eczema, with prescriptions at

CVS, with medicine, with confusion about the future, with fear

of being second place. with disregard, with an

order of pad see ew, with ice left from a thai iced tea.

— Elizabeth Lacey

(inspired by canvas and mirror by Evie Shockley)