by Lizzie Harris

All girls are sunnier in the perfect shade
of lipstick—marooned

on earth with nothing but
their features. My girlfriends and I

all have very different needs. I like to keep
my girlfriends for far-away things.

On Sunday I stay in to wax
my facial hair. Have you noticed

me growing? Haven’t you guessed
I’m a different beast entirely?

I heard somewhere, you’re either famous
or you aren’t, but most days

I feel in between existence.
My impression is very small.

My time here is very small.
Sometimes I’m an insect, crawling

like skin, when a man leaves a room
then comes back in.