distraction

by mk zariel

why is it that in every hollowed-out room
every liminal space, alternate timeline, new set
of pronouns — i still hear the anthems of what you were?
still hear whispers in my voice memos app knowing
you’d never actually listen — the boundaries unset
the needs you told me i wasn’t entitled to

the mixtapes, the rough drafts you would have loved—
i have cried at a poetry reading solely because
i know you’d also find it pretentious, and that’s when i know
i am over you only in name. remember when you
compared my voice to a slew of medicinal
herbs you had to google, and it didn’t make
sense, but at least helped with my dysphoria?
when i called you in tears and you told me

to help you answer your email? it may not
have been supportive, but in these trying times
distraction counts for a lot — at least that’s what i
told my therapist, before they implored me to

take a break from human contact for a bit.