daisy by marc jacobs

Julia Wasilewski, Rutgers University '18


how is it that the smell of a

rotten potato

a shriveled little thing in my pantry

is enough to excuse myself from

every family barbecue

for the rest of my life?

or how the smell

of a decaying clam on the shore

is enough to resent the sun

and the sea.

i don't enjoy summers like i did as a girl.

they are not fun

anymore.


age twenty one

i learn that sex is supposed to be fun,

even pleasurable.

here lies a new and profound idea

pleasure is foreign to me,

i don't speak fun.

i convince myself that i liked it each time

my lover falls asleep next to me,

his soft penis looks wrinkled

and ugly

and it makes me sick.


soon i learn that i am capable of feeling

pleasure the way my lover does,

but mostly:

terrible thoughts linger like a bad smell.

i cannot shake them.

it clings to you forever

like chain restaurant grease.