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By. Ellie Prusko

In the 38 degree weather,

you smirk at men’s wandering eyes

over your bare legs

and tight dress

and low bun

and dark eyes.

It’s pretty cold,

one of the girls say.

But what she doesn’t know

is that you’re all dolled up

just to slow dance with yourself

in the hotel room

with lit candles

and an inner fury that he won’t pick up the phone.

Men wink as they hand you beer

and ask if you live around here.

You’ve never been this far from home

for this long and the thing

that eats you alive

as you lay in bed

is the fact that despite

less meds,

a saved scholarship,

the desire to live,

you still feel so stagnant.

You wonder if sex will fix it

so you send naked pictures

to a boy who worships your body.

It’s also a revenge tactic,

since the one who’s scalp

you only smelled once

and now have the scent burned into your brain

can barely make plans on the rare occasions he can even speak.

And you’re kicking yourself

because that’s all it was to begin with

but your feelings are so see-through

with your snow complexion.

The dilated pupils

and blood flushing your face

makes the boys in your bed

know immediately

that you adore everyone you come into contact with.

Ellie Prusko is a twenty-year-old novelist. She has over ten publications by literary magazines such as Hypernova Lit, Postcard Shorts, as well as thirteen regional and national Scholastic Awards. She is currently studying creative writing in college.