Lies

my stomach is killing me
and so are you

it grumbles like I
grumble while I
sneak peeks at your ribs,
and
take mental measurements
of your wrists,
and
make mental note of that tone that you hit
when you giggle and say “stah-ahp”
(it makes the boys go, “a-ahhh.”)

it gurgles like I
gurgle when I
choke on my words as I
try to emulate your voice and
channel your wit and 
your ability to command a goddamn room
(all eyes on you
now, well,
aren’t you a champ, 
now?)

my stomach is killing me
because of you

but I care more about the concavity of yours
than taking care of my own, so
I guess maybe it’s just
jealous too.