“in places like London” by Julia in her backyard

Sunday, July 14, 2013
5 minutes
For Selma
Langston Hughes

That’s where we went and I found out I hated you. Sort of a last minute decision to go and then I was excited I went, but soon after all you could talk about was money and clothes and shit you do that’s better than me and how you thought I wasn’t grateful because I criticized the paintings hanging in your brother’s hallway. I didn’t know they were yours. I knew they were shit but I
didn’t know you painted them. So sorry. But like, not really. And I hated you because your hair was always perfect. And I hated you because your tolerance for alcohol and smarmy men was higher than mine. And I hated you because you smelled like almonds even after drinking. I don’t like feeling inferior to you. I don’t like feeling like you decide when I get to laugh or cry. I’m mad still, I realize this now. And I don’t want to go back to London. I didn’t get to see all of it because I spent the majority of my time thinking about ways to poison your croissantwiches or your shampoo. I was so angry that I forgot why I started to love you in the first place.