poem in which i’m the bad guy

by BEE LB

i hate poet voice. i exaggerate
my vocal fry when i want to sound hotter
than i am. i talk from my chest when i want a chance
at avoiding she pronouns. i contort my body in the presence
of filters until i convince myself i’m almost as hot
as i think i am. i binge eat until i’m sick
and i no longer make myself puke.
i watch my bloodsugar skyrocket
and do not correct it. i don’t ration my insulin
because i get it for free. sometimes i let it go bad and
use it anyway. sometimes i jab my thigh with a needle even though
i have a cannula in my belly. sometimes i leave the cannula in
until i risk infection. i’m afraid of needles
and i love the attention of hospitalization. sometimes
i hate my stomach and when i say sometimes i mean
nearly always and i could cross out nearly
but i won’t because even in a poem about being bad
i want to be good. anyway.
i’ve had a blackhead on my chest
for nearly a year now. i’ve let mold grow
above my shower since i moved in.
i’ve had the remains of a dead plant on my sink
since winter. i sweeped my kitchen yesterday for the
first time in months. thought i miss my fucking roomba
hours before my brother told me he’s finally getting it fixed.
that’s not laziness on my part, the warranty’s in his name.
the laziness on my part is the regular vacuum in my closet
with the canister still overfilled with pine needles from christmas.
the worst thing about cleaning is you always have to clean
again. the worst thing about me is i make excuses for how i live.
i get alcohol doordashed at least once a month and i don’t
always tip well. i scam credits so often they once
banned me for a month. i said i got the 1.75 liter by accident
when no one asked. obviously i got it on purpose but it was only $11.
it was gone in 3 days and i can’t say it was a waste. i tell myself it’s
fine because i only get it when there’s an offer. i considered charging
my roommate a late fee because i’ve covered her rent for nearly two months
and the only reason i didn’t is bc i’m not a fucking landlord.
but i do love profit. by profit i mean anything over
the $840 a month i scam from the gvmt. when i was 18
they told me they’d rather keep me in poverty for the rest of my life
than let me join the work force and i was like ha, gotcha.
the $2,000 they backpaid me is the most money i’d ever had
and is the most money i’ll ever have at once
and this is an agreement i entered into willingly.
there’s a special savings account you can sign up for
to bypass that rule but it’s 3 pages of forms and i’m too fucking lazy.
they tried to shut off my food stamps so i stopped buying groceries and now
i have so much saved up i’m scared they’ll see and shut them off. i told my therapist two days ago i want to try emdr for my
eating disorder and it would’ve been the most honest thing i did
this week except i refused to name it. said instead i’ve been overeating
to the point i’m uncomfortable with myself and after the session
ate the second half of a bag of crunchy cheetos then took
enough xanax to spend the rest of the day comfortably high.
woke up with a blood sugar over 400 and nearly said fuck it.
what i really said was i’ve been overeating to the point i’m gaining
a lot of weight and it’s making me hate myself again though when have i ever
not? at the end of an emdr session you stow the unresolved trauma in a
container of your choosing and all my worst shit goes in the cedarwood box
i made in sixth grade. the problem is my therapist doesn’t start the next session
by opening that box which tells me the trick is just a trick and the jig is up.

BEE LB is an array of letters, bound to impulse; a writer creating delicate connections. they have called any number of places home; currently, a single yellow wall in Michigan. they have been published in Revolute Lit, After the Pause, and Roanoke Review, among others. they are the 2022 winner of the Bea Gonzalez Prize for Poetry. their portfolio can be found at twinbrights.carrd.co