Gabriela Nadeau

black, white, and red

all over your neck,

my lips pressing into you

like i have something to prove.

the words are scrawled over my body,

desperation in lace & cotton sheets—

i am


i’ve spent so much time

painting myself in the best of light,

bending over backward

to be pristine and perfect—

for anyone to keep around,

and you

knock on my door in yesterday’s smile,

light up my phone after the credits roll,

and there i am again in my sunday best,

ready for the next round of perplexing agony.

people like you never understand,

even when i twist the meaning

into every syllable of your name—

i am not proud,

i am a music box ballerina twirling at command,

there is nothing inside me

but the desire to be wanted,

and you’re already a goddamn necessity.

the hunger rips through me—

you’ve never seen a wolf before,

the feral curl of my lip still

alluring for at least a few more days;

i am equal parts pathetic & vicious—

falling in love at a bullet’s speed,

degrading myself at your hands,

convincing myself each time

that it’s new and wonderful

and i am wanted—

i am always wrong,

and left with the same

hollow feeling curled inside my palm,

left to the reruns every single night

because i just can’t


Gabriela Nadeau is a freshman (for the second time) at the Fashion Institute of Technology. She is studying illustration and English. If she’s not wreaking havoc upon the Upper West Side, she’s probably pretending to be good at roller derby or looking up random items on eBay.