by Molly Gustafson

when i was twenty years old i thought about slitting my wrists everyday not to die just to be sure
that what was inside was really blood, bones, and sinew.

when i was eighteen years old i watched a woman’s skull opened by a car’s side mirror walking too
close to the street at one in the morning. it was my first day living alone.

when i was fifteen years old i poisoned myself with alcohol. i pushed the pollution from my
stomach until i was sure there was nothing left inside of me.

when i was twelve years old i got a chain email with a photo of a man holding his organs in his
hands and smiling wide. i thought it was real until the year i lost my virginity.

when i was eight years old i fell off my bicycle seat and split my knee open until the bone was
showing. i thought i was dying until my dad bought me ice cream.

when i was three years old i saw a circus clown with red paint on his lips. my cousin joked that he
had been drinking little girl blood before he stepped onto the stage.

when i was born i split my mother in two. i had to break her body to exist.

Molly Gustafson is graduating in May 2025 with her BA in English-General Writing and minor in Theatre. Her work has previously appeared through Wingless Dreamer Publishing, as well as in Windows Fine Arts Magazine, where she won the Spring 2025 First-Place Prize in Poetry.